


Standing Opposite Sides of the Bombed Divide

by BlueFireRedIce



Series: The Book of Bravo [3]
Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Airport attack, Blood, Brock Reynolds Whump, Clay gets a booboo, Gun Fight, Hurt Brock Reynolds, Injury, Minor Character Death, Soap MacTavish lives, graphic depictions of injuries, terrorist attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:08:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 90,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24438706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueFireRedIce/pseuds/BlueFireRedIce
Summary: When Delta's K-9 unit gets sidelined due to injury, Brock and Cerberus are brought in as cover on a time sensitive, high profile situation.The mission? Stopping a terrorist attack at Tenerife Airport that's aimed to 'celebrate' the anniversary of the disaster that claimed 583 lives in 1977.The problem? Jason doesn't know he's been spun up - and with Lindell reshuffling Bravo Squad to his heart's content Jason is keeping his brothers on a tight leash so he doesn't lose them to their new CO's ambitions. Unfortunately for Bravo 1, he's about to learn the hard way what happens when a leash is taken without his knowledge until it's too late.
Series: The Book of Bravo [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915066
Comments: 292
Kudos: 185





	1. Brock's No Good, Very Bad Day

**A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY! That's from me to all you lovely people, by the way! In celebration of my leveling up yet another year, I wanted to share the first chapter of my new multi-chapter SEAL Team adventure!**

**Just a word of caution for anyone who missed the notes about this story on my first SEAL Team fic - this story features a terrorist attack at Tenerife airport. Now, for anyone who lost family in the Tenerife disaster, or any aircraft related attacks, please consider this your PSA that this story features a terrorist attack on an airport. It's not a topic that should ever be taken lightly as many people have been affected by these events over the years, but as we all know SEAL's deal with unpleasant situations and this scenario is one I wanted to explore as a writer. Not that this makes much of a difference, but I work in the aviation industry here in NZ and have for the past 5 years, so I'm comfortable with delving into this topic.**

**Enough of my rambling though! I hope you all enjoy the first chapter, and I can't wait to hear what you think!**

* * *

Today really wasn’t Brock’s day.

It was one of those days that he wished he’d just turned his alarm off, rolled over and gone to sleep for another 24 hours. If only to avoid the shit he’d dealt with within the three hours of being conscious.

First, his phone was playing up. Not a biggie, but it was a new phone and shouldn’t have been glitching and dropping out of service every five minutes like it currently was. His alarm had gone off, which was a bonus – but that was about all it had done for him. He’d have to contact Lisa and get a new one organised – although at this rate he’d have to send in the request via pigeon.

With his luck this morning though, all the pigeons would probably be dead.

Second, his coffee machine _and_ toaster decided they’d had a falling out with him and refused to cooperate. Which, seriously?! He hadn’t even been home for the past three days so they had absolutely no reason to throw a fit at him. But throw one they had, and after several unsuccessful attempts to turn them on he sighed and gave them up as a lost cause. In protest of their protest he decided he’d splurge on a breakfast out for once; which was far more appealing than toast and black coffee any day. Buoyed by the thought of a cooked breakfast, he hopped in his shower to get ready.

Where thirdly, there was no hot water. Seriously. Fuck his life right now. After smacking his head lightly on the tiles because _of course_ he couldn’t have something as simple as a hot shower, he cursed up a storm and took a quick dunk in ice-cold water to wake the still sluggish neurons firing in his brain. Suffice to say, they were online and firing full power after about two seconds.

Unable to cope any longer and satisfied the soap was more or less washed away he jumped out, towel drying vigorously in an attempt to warm up before wrapping it around his waist and calling for Cerberus as he made his way to the bedroom to change.

Where fourth, and much to his growing concern, his boy was out of sorts. He’d been quieter than normal since they got home, but he’d figured the pup was just tired from the previous mission where they’d both been worked hard for an extended period of time. If the sluggish way Cerb lifted his head when he entered the room was any indication, it was more than that.

Disappointed, but knowing there was no other choice Brock kissed the idea of a cooked breakfast goodbye and resigned himself to suffering through cafeteria food yet again. Food he wouldn’t even get until Cerb was with the on base vet; because there was no way in hell he was letting his boy go untreated any longer than necessary.

Once he’d changed he grabbed his bag and loaded it into his truck before going back for Cerberus. The wet tongue that skimmed his cheek made him smile softly, and he planted his own kiss on his dog’s head before carefully depositing him in the passenger seat. Once Cerberus was secured he locked his house – if today was any indication, leaving it unsecured meant he’d undoubtedly get broken into - before leaving for base; one hand on the wheel and the other idly patting the Hair Missle.

Fifth, traffic was shit. Someone had broken down in the middle of the road, which meant it took forever to get through – he was just grateful his luck wasn’t so shit that it happened to him. Eventually he got to his allocated carpark on base – thankyou job perk - and he was out and around the side of the truck to scoop his boy into his arms before he’d fully registered turning his truck off.

It wasn’t an overly long walk from the car to the clinic, and in no time at all he had Cerberus checked in to be examined by his usual vet. He’d barely deposited Cerberus on the examination table before he was being shuffled out by the overly cheerful receptionist; and despite his protests about being manhandled he just managed to give Cerb a pat and a ‘see you soon, bubba’ before he was pushed outside and the door shut in his face. Handlers weren’t allowed to be there for the initial assessments because apparently they got too emotional and overbearing. Pfft. He’d only done that like, once. 

Possibly twice. 

He paused, blinking as a somewhat unpleasant realization hit him. He was the reason he wasn’t allowed in there while Cerberus was being examined. Goddamn it. 

Exasperated, but unable to deny that he was probably a bit more attached to his dog than he should be as a handler, he wandered off in search of food – swinging by his car to grab his gear and heading to the cage room to drop it off. 

Where sixth, and for who knew what reason, Sonny was up his face, in his grill and all that. He and the Texan rarely came to blows, let alone argued beyond the odd squabble – which was weird considering Quinn’s usual temperament – but yep, no. Today that was different. Apparently he’d done something to piss the Texan off, and when he asked Sonny just what in the fuck he was squawking about… well. Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, if the fist that came for his face was any indication.

With Sonny sidelined due to injuries he’d received on their last mission, Bravo was grounded for the next couple weeks while he healed up. Jason was helping train Green Team, Ray was taking some time with his family and working through his Warrant Officer application, Clay was off on some shooting course the Navy had asked him specifically to attend – something about imparting his wisdom on new recruits or whatever – and Trent was away visiting his sister and new nephew.

Who knew why Sonny was out of the infirmary when he should be resting. Frankly he didn’t care. But the fact that Jason, who happened to be passing by at the time had to pull the pair of them apart just as he dodged a fist while landing a particularly heavy blow to the Texan’s cheek was the icing on the cake. 

He could feel a headache forming, the day was a goddamn disaster and a complete write-off and now he and Sonny were at odds – and he still had no idea why. 

Jason shoved Sonny into the couch to take pressure off the leg sporting its shiny new cast, and shoved Brock out the door with an oh-so-charming “I expected better from you and we’ll talk about this later”, before slamming the door in his face to demand answers from Bravo 3. 

Brock, having had enough of the day’s events and finally losing his cool, punched the wall beside the door. He grunted when he felt the skin split; found his knuckles bloodied and throbbing in protest at their mistreatment but he shook it off and stormed back to the vet clinic. 

Tough shit if they didn’t want him there, he was going to join his dog. If he was lucky, maybe they’d take pity on him and let him crash in the kennels. It was only nine in the morning, but by god was he _done_ with the day. 

And really, tomorrow couldn’t get much worse. 

* * *

Half an hour later he was walking out of the clinic with Cerb curled around his shoulders and a bottle of antibiotics in his now bandaged hand. Sadly the receptionist hadn’t let him stay, and she had laughed at his insistence that he wouldn’t be a bother before he was pushed out the door. Again.

That woman seemed to enjoy manhandling him more than she probably should. He honestly didn’t know if he should be offended or not.

So, he tried not to pout about it too much while resigning himself to another day of being human. Ugh. 

As though sensing his disappointment, Cerberus gave his ear a small lick. “Thanks boy,” he muttered, nuzzling into his dog’s side in both appreciation and apology.

According to the vet, the graze Cerberus had gotten on his flank during the previous mission had – despite being minor in depth and length - become infected, which is why he was so quiet. She was confident a course of antibiotics which was boosted by the injection Cerberus received during his examination would deal to it quickly. 

They’d been in the middle of a rainforest when it happened; he and Cerberus were tracking their target through dense bush while also trying to pick out every goddamn exploding booby trap the paranoid scientist had set out. It had been hard going, and they’d been exhausted by the end of it; but regardless of his own fatigue the moment the scratch appeared Brock had done everything he could to keep it clean. 

In the end his efforts had been for nothing. They’d been constantly covered in mud the whole mission, which meant regardless of how diligent he’d been in treating the cut he hadn’t been able to stop it getting infected. The vet had assured him he’d gone above and beyond with Cerb’s care in the conditions they’d been in, which is why he was only a little bit under the weather rather than horrendously ill like he should’ve been, but that didn’t matter to him because he should’ve done _more_. 

To say he felt like the lowest form of scum for not even considering an infection could be what was wrong with his dog was the understatement of the century, and it was a fact that had him kicking himself all the way to the cages where he planned on putting Cerberus for the rest of the day to rest. 

But of course, today wasn’t his day, and he sure as hell didn’t get a say in what happened. Kit, the Delta 4 breacher and a good friend was just leaving Bravo’s cage room when they made eye contact. The relief that crossed Kit’s face when he saw him instantly made him wary. 

Well shit. This couldn’t be good. 

“Reynolds! There you are!” 

He nodded in greeting, confused about why the man would be looking for him. “Hey Kit, what’s up?”

“Where’ve you been? Lindell’s been tryna get a hold of you for the last hour!” Kit reached over and gave Cerberus’ ears a quick scratch while he looked at him questioningly. “Why haven’t you answered your phone?”

Oh great. It only had to be _the_ most important person on this base for his continued career that decided to try call him today of all days. Of course it was because really; why the fuck not? 

Pulling said device out of his pocket he checked the phone and sure enough – no service. He handed it over to Kit as he strode into the cage room. “Bloody thing’s playing up,” he grumbled while confirming no one else was there. Good. If he saw Sonny now he’d smack the ugly oaf right between the eyes to make himself feel better. Then he blanched when he wondered why the hell violence would make him feel better. 

Christ, today was weird. “Reception’s been dropping in and out all morning so I’m probably going to have to replace it.” 

“Irritating,” Kit conceded, poking at the phone curiously as though he could fix it while following him into the room, “but never mind that. Grab your gear, we leave in ten.”

Wait, what? He turned, looking at Kit like he’d lost it because last he’d heard he and Kit were on different teams. “Say again?”

“Delta’s getting spun up. You’re coming with.”

Again, what? “Why?”

“We need a K-9 for this mission - you’re it.”

Brock blinked. Kit blinked back. He was about to ask just why the hell they didn’t take their own handler and dog when he remembered they were currently recovering from their last mission. Delta’s K-9 unit had been injured in an ambush and were still a few weeks away from their medical assessment to return to the field. “Shit. Uh, right. Give me a sec.” To get his head on straight and to work out what he might need.

“You don’t have one,” Kit replied, his expression apologetic even as he fidgeted impatiently. “Plane’s getting ready to leave so we need to haul ass. Grab whatever you want and sort your gear on board. What do you need me to carry?”

Christ, he’d never hear the end of it if they were late. It was rare he was required for another team’s spin up, but it did happen occasionally. With the way his morning had gone, he honestly shouldn’t be surprised by the unexpected turn of events.

He directed Kit to his usual go-bag which he’d thankfully had the presence of mind to restock when they returned from their last spin-up. Setting Cerberus on the table to free up his hands, he grabbed his weapons and Cerb’s own bag and placed them beside the dog. “Anything specific I need?”

Kit shrugged. “We’re going to Tenerife,” he replied. “Uptick in chatter about a potential terrorist attack at the airport. We’re going in to make sure it doesn’t happen, so whatever you think might help.” 

Alrighty then. Any assault they carried out should only be by land. That was fine with him. 

He went through his cage, grabbing his bag of extra ammunition to arrange on the plane – an attack on an airport meant ambitious terrorists, which meant the more mags he had on him the better – before grabbing his demolitions kit, repelling gear and a few other odds and ends. Considering the short notice and zero information of the situation they were heading into, Brock was satisfied the gear he’d grabbed meant he was over-prepared for anything that could be thrown his way.

Besides, he’d take over prepared and alive above underprepared and dead any day.

Handing a few items to Kit, he grabbed Cerberus’ harness and strapped the dog in before swinging Cerberus back over his shoulders, ignoring Kit’s grin at the movement. “He’s feeling a bit off right now,” he defended as he grabbed his bags and headed for the door. “Faster to move him this way.” 

Kit held a hand out, looking instantly concerned. “Is it going to affect his ability to work? A dog is crucial for mission success and there’s no point taking him if he’s not up to it.” 

“We’ll be fine,” he promised, knowing just how important a K-9 was to a team; especially on a mission that would undoubtedly be filled with hidden explosives and who knew what else. Thankfully he’d already noticed Cerberus had started perking up a bit, otherwise he would’ve told Kit to haul in another team for the mission instead. 

Seeing the man’s hesitation, he gave the SEAL what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “The vet’s already looked at him and said he’ll be right as rain in a few hours once the meds kick in; and I’m already seeing a difference in him from this morning. We’ll be fine, I promise.” 

Apparently his smile worked because Kit clapped him on the shoulder and led him to the door. 

Doing a final sweep of the room revealed nothing had been left behind, but as he went to leave his eyes landed on Jason’s cage – triggering a rather important thought. “Uh, Jason knows about this, right?” 

“Yep,” Kit replied as they double-timed it down the corridor to the car waiting at the exit for them. Well, Lindell said he’d let Hayes know as soon as he saw him, so if he didn’t already know then he would shortly. “All squared away.” 

Brock nodded and took Kit at his word. He didn’t like going off without talking to Jason first but as he’d already seen the man – albeit briefly as he’d been ripping into Sonny - it had probably slipped Bravo 1’s mind.

Oh well. He’d deal Jason’s grumbling about not being the one to tell him of his reassignment when he got back.

He had a job to do.

* * *

Jason glared at his phone – specifically at the three messages he’d sent to Brock that had yet to be opened. The little grey circles that told him they were unread sat there big and fat and frankly looked as though they were mocking him. What made it worse was that his phone was telling him that Brock was online; so if he was then why the hell wasn’t he answering? Brock, like the rest of his brothers, knew better than to ignore him. 

To say he’d been less than impressed when he found Sonny and Brock fighting in the cage room was to put it mildly. He’d already had a trying day with the Greenies, and to hear Sonny bellowing from half way down the corridor – presumable at some _one_ rather than some _thing –_ he’d charged into the room ready to finish whatever the idiot had started. Again. 

Shocked was an apt description for how he felt when he realised it was Sonny and _Brock_ who were duking it out. He knew that it wasn’t Brock that would’ve started the flight – the man dealt with his anger differently than the brash Texan – so he’d shoved him out of the room and read Sonny the riot act. As it turned out, the Texan’s anger was due to a medicated-induced rage. Meaning the man wasn’t actually sure why he was in the cage room in the first place and Brock was his adversary purely for the fact he was the first one to enter the room.

After dropping said medicated idiot back to the infirmary with a stern warning to not leave his room unless given explicit permission by Doc, Jason had taken a moment to be pleased that it was only Sonny’s leg and minor concussion that was the issue, rather than a serious injury. He could only imagine how Bravo 3 would react to stronger medication, and shuddered at the mere thought. Not a situation he ever wanted to be faced with, thank you very much.

So do you think Jason could find Brock to tell him this? Or tell him Sonny wanted to apologise from the infirmary that’d he’d prematurely busted out of? 

No. No he couldn’t. 

That wasn’t what annoyed Jason, per se – it was the fact Brock hadn’t read nor acknowledged the messages that had come in, and that irritated him because it was an unspoken rule in Bravo that no one ever ignored their phone. 

A rule Brock was apparently breaking, if the ignored messages were anything to go by. 

After a few moments of tossing up whether he should just outright call Brock so he could demand an explanation to his lack of response he looked up and around, frowning slightly. He could’ve sworn he’d just heard the man. 

There were a few people milling about, and the doors at the end of the corridor were just settling back into place after admitting someone outside, but there was no Brock to be seen. 

His phone chimed, but before he could even get his hopes up that it was Bravo 5 he discovered it was a message from one of the other Green Team trainers. 

He didn’t bother reading the text – he didn’t have to. The words Greenies, super glue and shoes jumped out at him so he stormed back the way he came – firing off another message to Brock and telling him he was in for a world of hurt if he didn’t reply back in the next hour. 

The saying that hindsight could be a bitch? Jason would soon discover he was about to learn exactly how much of a bitch it could be. 


	2. Bracing For The Seasons

**A/N: Hello all, and welcome back! My house move went well, but I can say with absolute certainty that moving sucks big time, and I don't want to do it again anytime soon - despite knowing full well I'll probably be moving again in August if my job goes. Thank god I got rid of a tonne of stuff - I don't even know where half of it came from! The joys of having flatmates I suppose!**

**So. This chapter; we're still in the set up stages here folks, however we do get a bit of character backstory - yay! The full backstory was demanding to be written, so I got it all done but was scratching my head over it for a while because it just felt out of place. Thankfully, while I was doing my weekly food prep yesterday I had a brain wave for where the rest of it can be used (yes I also write my stories in my head while I'm cooking, I can't help it. The only thing to burn thus far are my brain cells, the food has still survived!), and I know it's going to be soooo much better further into the story than it would've been here!**

**Now, please note a minor change to the previous chapter where Kit was a SEAL Brock gets on well with - he received a battlefield promotion to a good friend. Ha, guess what that means. More angst! Woot!**

**Another minor change because much to my embarrassment, when I re-watched the Tunisia Airlines hijacking episode to find out what airline was hijacked in the episode (research = creative brain = whyyyyyy) the episode actually states it’s Delta Force who normally deal with this. Delta Force are also known as CAG’s; Combat Applications Group - which Jason also calls them in the cage room. They’re a special military unit which is part of the United States Army. For the sake of this story, it’s SEAL team Delta who are dealing with this, because I’m a goob and didn’t do my research. Although if I had, Brock’s inclusion would’ve made zero sense and this story wouldn't exist! So, creative license to change things up and all that...**

**Special shout out to:[ghostwriter_44](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwriter_44), [Raeschiev9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raeschiev9), [ShellyFanFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic), [Hayzkid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hayzkid), [Irish1969](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish1969), [Laura42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura42), [Floopdeedoopdee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floopdeedoopdee), [Eggerthella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggerthella), [purplerain88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplerain88), [blabliblablu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blabliblablu), [TheLaurinchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLaurinchen), [MiaMalfoy716](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaMalfoy716), [CamilleMadeAnAccount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount), [Jemmacatt14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemmacatt14), [Wurdsmadder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wurdsmadder), [NobodyKnowsWhoIAM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobodyKnowsWhoIAM), and [Bastet5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastet5) as well as the 24 guests who've commented and kudosed - you guys are awesome!**

* * *

Brock chewed his lip absentmindedly, fiddling with the piece of paper in his hands as he mulled over what he’d read.

In 1977 Tenerife airport was home to an accident that resulted in the loss of 583 lives, thus cementing it as the site of the worst aviation disaster in history. He remembered a History Channel documentary on it a few years back – remembered the lengthy discussion he had with Trent when he dragged his brother over for dinner one night so they could watch it together and discuss the investigation.

Suffice to say, it had been sobering to watch how a series of unfortunate events led to such a tragedy. As a self-professed aviation enthusiast, it was hard to reconcile something he loved with something that had – as the evidence proved – been so flawed at the time. He was grateful however that despite the awful way the lessons had been learned, the industry had improved significantly as a result.

The irony that the accident was the result of a terrorist attack on a neighbouring island wasn’t lost on him in the slightest.

According to the intel they’d received, a terrorist cell had decided to make a name for itself by attacking the Tenerife airport on the anniversary of the crash. If the chatter was correct, the group was aiming for maximum casualties. Their end goal wasn’t entirely clear just yet due to conflicting information from a number of sources, but the estimated amount of explosives and dealing with international terrorists was more than the local Guardia knew how to handle.

Which is where Delta and the British SAS came in.

The SAS had received the initial packet from their analyst’s, and after reviewing the files had called on Delta to assist; the potential complexity of the mission better suited to two teams to ensure success with minimal casualties. As Tenerife was popular year round, and the largest of the Canary Islands, initial indications showed that their jobs would be made harder as the airport would likely be at or near peak capacity.

The manifests they’d managed to get so far backed that statement up, hence the need for them to move quickly if they were to stop the attack before it happened.

From what Brock could tell, it appeared the mission would be a chessboard with constantly shifting pieces, meaning it would be in no way easy. He also realised with a start that this would be the second Unicorn of his career.

Bravo had thought they’d lucked out bagging the Tunisia Airlines hijacking a couple of years back, which gave them the opportunity to add another notch to their belt of unique missions. Now, despite all odds he was getting another crack at bagging a Unicorn. And not just any Unicorn; if the chatter was to believed then it’d be the _King_ of all Unicorns.

He could hardly believe it, because not only would he get to see how these situations were handled by the experts, but he’d be more actively involved than he had been the first time around. With that in mind, he took the situation as it was presented to him – a chance to learn from the best.

Despite the gravity of the situation, he was oddly excited about the prospect.

“Two mikes out!” The driver announced, snapping Brock out of his reverie. Sure enough, when he looked out the window he could see the rear of the C-17 and several men milling about at the base of the ramp.

He ducked his head, wincing slightly when he realised they were there to help offload his gear so they could get moving.

“Hey, I told Troy that you never got the message to meet us,” Kit said, and Brock looked at his friend. Apparently his embarrassment had been more obvious than he realised. “Shit happens Brock, no one’s holding it against you.” 

He shrugged, but gave the man a grateful smile nonetheless. “Still, my delay could cost us the mission. Kinda hard to be positive when you know people could die because of you.” 

Kit rolled his eyes. “You really are a martyr,” he sighed. “This was the scheduled time for takeoff. We’re not late, which means that if anything happens earlier than the intel suggests it’s on all of us. Besides, we made sure to get there a few hours early so we can stop them before they kick off – the chatter suggests the terrorists are planning on running their attack to the same time the original crash occurred.” 

This was why briefing packets were given to operators – not a single slip of paper with three paragraphs. While Kit had assured him he’d be properly briefed once on board, it would’ve been nice to know that he wasn’t as late as he’d believed. “That was really good of you to tell me now, thanks for that.” 

Kit grinned at him while leaning over to the back seat to give Cerberus a scratch behind the ears. “You’re welcome dude.” The car rolled to a stop, and he climbed out after clapping the driver on the shoulder. “Thanks for the lift. C’mon Broccoli, no time to dawdle!” 

Rolling his eyes at his friend’s antics, he turned to look at his dog. “He’s as useless on the info as usual, hey buddy?” Cerberus yipped, his tail thumping against the seat which in turn made him grin. While still slightly sluggish in his movements, the sight of his boy looking happy squashed the unease that had been simmering in his gut since Kit told him about the mission. The vet had never been wrong when it came to caring for Cerberus, but with the way his day started part of him had expected his dog to still be completely out of it.

Seeing him acting nearer to his usual self was a huge relief, because it meant that by the time they reached Tenerife Cerberus would be up to the task ahead. 

“I heard that!” Kit’s offended voice came from somewhere outside the vehicle. 

“You can’t be offended if it’s true!” 

“Rude much!” 

Chuckling, he shook his head. “C’mon buddy,” he said, climbing out of the car and lowering the seat so Cerberus could follow him out. “Time to go to work!” Sure enough, Cerberus scrambled out after him and pranced around in circles, barking excitedly. It was as though the Malagator was trying to prove to everyone that he was feeling better.

“Guess you were right,” Kit exclaimed, grinning as he appeared with Brock’s go-bag in his hand. “Some of the good stuff and he’s right as rain!” 

Looking past him Brock saw the crewmen already carrying the rest of his gear, so he clipped Cerb to his leash and led him to the plane. “You doubted me Kitster?” he teased, extending a hand in invitation to pass his bag over, but Kit waved him off so he shrugged in acquiescence. “You can’t keep Malagator’s down for long, I thought I’d taught you that.” 

“Yeah yeah,” Kit laughed, elbowing him lightly. “But that was Peak you’d been talking about at the time. Bus coulda been different.” 

“My dog is not called _bus_ ,” he huffed, feigning irritability but in truth finding it as amusing as he had when a drug-addled Kit first uttered it. “It’s Cerberus, or Cerb – none of this _bus_ nonsense. Isn’t that right buddy?” 

Cerberus barked in agreement. 

“I dunno,” Kit countered, smiling slyly. “He hits with the force of a bus, so I think it suits him. What do you think Bus?” he asked the dog, putting on a voice that riled Cerberus up as intended. “That a good name for you?” 

Cerberus yipped, nearly prancing on the spot with his tail going full tilt. Brock rolled his eyes at Kit’s triumphant fist pump. “Quit corrupting my dog with your stoned-ass nicknames, you heathen!” 

“His name’s a mouthful when you’re drugged to the gills on morphine,” Kit defended haughtily, acting as though Brock had personally offended him. The amusement in his eyes said he was anything but. “S’not my fault his name has too many syllables.”

Brock rolled his eyes again and elbowed his friend in retaliation, which in turn started a jostling match as they walked up the ramp; the pair sniggering the whole way into the hold.

Despite loving his Bravo brothers dearly, Brock often missed hanging out with the man beside him. He and Kit had joined the Navy during the same intake; both fresh out of high school, wide eyed and full of enthusiasm for their chosen careers. They were made bunk mates during basic training, and quickly became good friends; their friendship growing and solidifying into a solid bond when they were allocated to the same ship.

When he first considered moving into the K-9 unit after eighteen months at sea, Kit had backed his decision enthusiastically – even going with him to the kennels to see the dogs while Brock talked with the head of the unit. He also joined Brock both times when he was assigned working dogs; starting with Sila the German Shepherd, then Peak a Belgian Malinois. Both dogs had had a few years of service under their belts when he took them on after their handlers were medically retired from active service.

He had each pup with him for a year or so before the Navy, and their previous handlers who taught him the ropes of being part of the K-9 unit decided it was time to retire them. As sad as he’d been to say goodbye, the fact the dogs went to their original handlers was more than worth the heartache.

Besides, training Peak and Sila when he did was what led him to Cerberus. He knew that without them he and his boy might’ve never been paired together, so he was grateful to have them in his life for the time he did. 

Kit had been one of the first people Brock introduced a wriggling fourteen week-old bundle to when the man turned up with takeout so he could not only meet the puppy, but also tell his friend that he’d been accepted for Green Team selection. Thinking back on it, the news had been bitter sweet. He and Kit had always planned to try for Green Team at the same time, but at the same time Brock had found his calling with the K-9 unit and had no intentions of backing out so soon after starting. 

His chosen path delayed his own application to Green Team by two years, but get in he did and it was during selection, much like Clay had with Bravo that Brock and Cerberus were deployed with Delta and Alpha on a major mission; getting to showcase their skills to their potential future team.

The mission was to handle a terrorist attack on a hotel in Singapore; the same hotel that happened to be housing hundreds of ambassadors and renowned activists from around the world for a climate summit. Because of the large number of hostages, and the publicity surrounding the attack DEVGRU chose to bring in as many K-9 units as they could to ensure nothing and nobody was missed.

When they were divided up into smaller teams to help cover more ground, Kit had volunteered to watch over them; but in the end it had been he and Cerberus watching over Kit after they saved his life. A tango had snuck up on them when they were busy clearing a room that had been packed with explosives, and Kit would’ve been killed if Brock hadn’t yelled a warning when he saw the terrorist move from the corner of his eye.

As it was, the tango managed to drive a knife just below Kit’s body armour, and while Cerberus took the tango out – Brock helping finish the man off with a bullet to the head – Brock stemmed the flow of blood long enough to get his friend to help. It was at the hospital, drugged to the gills when they went to visit that Kit tried to thank them but struggled to get his lips to form the word ‘Cerb’ – moaning something about the name having too many vowels - and had instead happily slurred his was through ‘bus’ several times in gratitude.

Brock had nearly lost his friend that day, but having him alive and well meant that he’d happily overlook the stupid nickname the man had given his boy. Although he continued to use it whenever he wanted to irritate Brock; which now that he thought about it seemed to be every time they saw each other.

Taking a particularly good elbow to the ribs with as many over dramatics as he could when Kit nailed him a good one, Brock’s attention was diverted when he saw a very familiar face strolling towards him.

“Brock!”

He grinned, elbowing Kit one final time before hurrying forwards and bumping fists with Kairos when he reached him. “Hey man, how you been?” 

It’d been about five months since Bravo had last seen the EOD specialist as he’d been on loan to the British SAS for a cross-agency co-operation effort the Brass had been running. The man’s laid back demeanor and penchant for riling Sonny up had been sorely missed of late, so it was good to see him again. 

“Good!” Kairos replied, leaning over to say hello to Cerb who barked in greeting. “Glad you made it; when I heard no one could reach you I thought I’d have to track you down myself.” 

Brock rolled his eyes. “Goddamn phone has been playing up so I never got the heads up,” he explained. He had a feeling he’d be doing that a fair bit today. Maybe he should write a sign and stick it to his chest so people would stop asking him where he’d been. “But I’m here now, so no need to send out a search party.”

“That’s a bummer,” the EOD commiserated. “And I’ll have you know I wouldn’t send out a search party. I would’ve consulted my crystal ball to find you; something I’m sure Sonny would’ve loved to see in action.”

The thought of how the Texan would react to the mere mention of crystal balls made them both snort with laughter. “Yeah, Sonny would be thrilled I’m sure,” he chuckled. Looking around for Kit and seeing him talking to his Master Chief, Brock spotted his bag nearby and headed over to it, Kairos following along behind. “When did you get back from the UK? Last I heard, you were still over there.”

“Finished up last week. I was supposed to be on leave for a month once I got back but Lindell called me and told me to get here ASAP. Thankfully my ma came to visit me this time, otherwise I would’ve been on the other side of the country a week ago.”

Brock whistled lowly. Given what they were about to walk into it was lucky indeed. Giving Cerb the command to sit on one of the seats, he secured the dog to a rail to ensure he was out of the way. Once they were in the air he’d let him loose, but for now it was best to stop him from getting underfoot.

Giving Cerberus a scratch behind the ears and a chew to keep him occupied, he turned around and was about to ask Kairos about his trip when his eyes fell on two others with EOD patches on their arms. He frowned, curiosity bubbling in his chest. They were taking three EOD specialists?

Kairos grinned and clapped him on the shoulder when he saw where his attention was at. “I’ll introduce you, come on.”

He followed Summer to where the EOD’s were going through their bags, and the pair looked up when they approached, curiosity in their eyes. “Guys, this is Brock Reynolds; Bravo 5 and the best damn K-9 handler the Navy has.” Pointing over his shoulder to where Cerberus was chewing his treat with gleeful abandon, he added “and that over there is his trusty sidekick, Cerberus.”

Hearing his name, Cerberus looked their way and barked once in greeting, making the EOD’s grin. “Brock, I’d like to introduce you to Autumn Jackson and Harry Winters.”

Brock clapped a hand over his mouth to cover his sudden snort of laughter, his reaction making Kairos laugh. “Sorry, sorry,” he apologised to the other two, but they were grinning at him. Evidently it wasn’t the first time someone had reacted the same way.

“Just wait until you meet the other EOD,” Autumn told him, and Brock blinked. There were _four_ EOD’s on this mission?

“Yeah,” Kairos agreed, before waving to get someone’s attention. A man wandered over, and Kairos clapped him on the shoulder. “Mike, this is Brock Reynolds,” he introduced again. “Our K-9 specialist. Brock, this is Mike Springfield.”

He couldn’t stifle his snort of laughter fast enough.

“Yep,” Kairos agreed, laughing with the others. “You know shit’s gone bad if you’ve got four seasons with you in one day.” 

“Oh my god,” he gasped, gleeful at the thought of introducing the four EOD’s to a certain brother; a meeting Brock was determined to make happen the moment they touched down on US soil. “I can’t wait to see Sonny’s face when he meets the four of you.” Just the thought of the horror that would cross his brother’s face… Oh, his reaction would be _priceless_.

“Sonny is Bravo 3,” Kairos explained to his friends while exchanging a smirk with Brock. “Big, burly Texan who has more phobias than should be allowed for a SEAL, and absolutely _hates_ anything superstitious.”

Winters smirked as well. “He does, does he?”

“Oh I’ve had some fun with him, that’s for damn sure,” Kairos told them. “He likes to think he’s tough, but oh boy is it easy to wind him up.”

“Odour eating crystals in his shoes,” Brock said. “The odd bit of mumbo jumbo said near him before a spin-up, that kinda thing.”

“Oh god,” Autumn snorted, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Summer, you evil prick.”

Kairos shrugged, grinning unrepentantly. “Gotta play the hippie hoodoo on someone,” he explained. “Besides, Hayes – that’s Bravo 1 - gave me permission to do so, and Sonny is too good a target to pass up.”

“We’re definitely going to do something to freak him out when we get back,” Brock agreed. “I want a video of his reaction to torment him with for the rest of his career.”

“Gee, what a pity we just happen to enjoy messing with people,” Springfield drawled, and Brock grinned when all four EOD’s put their fists together in a rehearsed four-way fist bump. “I’m sure we can arrange something for you.”

“First round is on me then.”

“Atta boy,” Autumn said, clapping him on the shoulder. Turning to Springfield she said, “We’re keeping this one when we’re done.”

“I can’t be kept by more people,” Brock replied, his tone joking but he was in fact deadly serious. “Jase will kill me if I get poached by someone else. Again.” He could just imagine what Jason’s reaction would be if he was assigned to another team; the man would raze the entire Navy to the ground in an apocalyptic fit if any more changes were made to Bravo without his say so.

Yeah, no. He didn’t want to be the thing that tipped Jason over the proverbial edge.

“Eh, you let us worry about that,” Winters replied, and Brock genuinely couldn’t tell if they were serious or not. He figured he was probably better off not knowing.

“Gentleman, ma’am,” they turned and greeted Troy Banks, Delta’s Master Chief and their leader for the mission. “Thanks for coming in at short notice, Flynn said you were on leave when you were called in so I appreciate you hauling ass to get here as quickly as you did.” Flynn being Delta’s Lieutenant Commander who Brock could see talking to a crewman in the upper deck.

“Happy to come in, sir,” Autumn replied, her three companions nodding in agreement. “It’s not every day we all get called in for one job, so she’s got to be pretty serious.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Banks snorted before turning to Brock and extending his hand. “Reynolds, it’s good to see you. Thanks for hauling ass when Kit told you you were needed.”

It appeared Kit had been telling the truth about filling his MC in. “Don’t mention it; I’m only sorry I nearly held everyone up.”

Banks waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it; you didn't and quite frankly, shit happens. You’re here, that’s the main thing – Roy was beyond pissed that he couldn’t come along, but as he’s still on crutches he wasn’t going to be of much use this mission.”

“He and Ryder are doing alright then?” he asked, concerned for his Delta counterparts. He didn’t know much about what had side-lined the pair, only that they’d both been injured – Roy more so as he used himself as a shield to ensure Ryder wasn’t killed. Back when Roy first entered the K-9 programme Brock had been the one to help him with the final stages of his training, and as a result had become friends with the Californian and his German Shepherd. To hear the pair had been laid up had been worrying, but with near back to back missions since the man had been injured, he'd only been able to check in with Roy over the phone.

“Yeah they’re all good. Doc said another week or so and Roy’ll be out of his cast, then it’s physio and hopefully the all clear.”

“Glad to hear it.” And he was. Roy was a good man and a dedicated handler, and Brock knew that he’d go far with his position if injuries didn’t stop him from operating.

“Excuse me,” a crewman said, grabbing everyone’s attention and it was then Brock realised the ramp was latching into place. Evidently they were about to start taxiing. “If you could all take your seats, we’re ready to depart.”

“Copy that,” Banks replied, giving them a nod and wandering off towards another member of Delta.

“Kairos, come sit with me and Cerb and tell us about your trip,” Brock told the EOD, making his way to his seat where he found Kit giving Cerberus a rather vigorous belly rub; something the Malagator was enjoying thoroughly if his tail thumping incessantly against the side of the plane was anything to go by.

Kairos dropped into a seat opposite the two SEAL’s and the dog and strapped himself in.

“Okay, so first day in the UK and I get this weird ass vibe, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes about guardia from the Tenerife Information Website: The "Civil Guard" is the most formidable of the four forces and is a semi-military unit. Its officers deal with such things as drug smuggling, weapon control, anti-terrorism and bomb disposal. They are also charged with the protection of Spain's royal family.
> 
> For anyone who doesn't know what a 'Unicorn' is - Sonny refers to it in the airplane hijacking episode (2x11) "Airplane take down - that is the Unicorn of Special Ops. The GOPLAT was a white whale - two completely different animals; this one is much rarer. Like foreign history."


	3. An Unpleasant Discovery

**A/N: Hello again everyone! Apologies for the slight lateness of this chapter, it was meant to be out on Sunday but my brain was stalling on the timeline of events for this, because crossing timezones is actually way harder to do when you have characters in different ones than I initially thought! Ugh. Now, if I'd listened to my gut instinct at the start and done it, it would've been worked out in about five minute (logistics is one of my skillsets so I know timelines quite well!) but because it didn't get done until this chapter... three hours. Three goddamn hours it took. Why? Because I wanted it to be as real as possible to actual time zones (because authenticity) but it's really hard to get what you want when your characters have already started doing things. Guh! Oh well, I almost managed to get it exactly where I wanted it so I'm happy. I know I could've just made it up, but that's just cheating in my book.**

**If I hadn't managed to get it to work, I totally would've cheated - but I wanted to do it right if I could and I'm pleased to say I did! So. We'll be flicking between the American Time Zone (Eastern Daylight Time or EDT) and the Canary Islands Time Zone (Western European Time or WET). It's not entirely important, but I feel like it'll help with certain events as the story goes on :)**

**And yet another ramble from me! We're still in the setup stages, but things are happening so hopefully you enjoy it! I can't wait to see what you think!**

**Special shout out to:[ Quetzalcoatl_hime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quetzalcoatl_hime), [burn_me_down](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burn_me_down), [KazooKaren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren), [nhardoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhardoy), [ghostwriter_44](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwriter_44), [Raeschiev9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raeschiev9), [ShellyFanFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic), [Hayzkid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hayzkid), [Irish1969](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish1969), [Laura42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura42), [Floopdeedoopdee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floopdeedoopdee), [Eggerthella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggerthella), [purplerain88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplerain88), [blabliblablu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blabliblablu), [TheLaurinchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLaurinchen), [MiaMalfoy716](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaMalfoy716), [CamilleMadeAnAccount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount), [Jemmacatt14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemmacatt14), [Wurdsmadder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wurdsmadder), [NobodyKnowsWhoIAM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobodyKnowsWhoIAM), and [Bastet5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastet5) as well as the 34 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are awesome!**

* * *

**_1600 EDT -_** ** _Virginia Naval Base_** \- **_Bravo Crew Room_**

Trent entered the cage room, smiling at the photograph in his hand. His mother had handed it to him as he was getting ready to leave; literally hurrying to the car his stepdad pulled up in after he'd raced to the shops to print it off. 

Not that his mother would’ve let him leave without said photo; the woman would’ve practically hog tied him to a chair until it arrived. She’d done it to him once before, so he knew without a doubt she wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. 

Despite hating pictures of himself, this was one of the rare ones he was happy to have; a photo of him holding his new nephew – smiling down at the infant cradled carefully in his arms as the baby stared back at him. 

Yet again, he hadn’t been there for his sister when she brought her child into the world. In fact, it was now a bit of a running joke in the family; he’d always promise to be there when either of his two sisters were due to give birth, but with each of their kids – Elena’s three and Tasha’s two – he was spun up three days before they gave birth, and Elena’s number four had been no different. 

With the third pregnancy he hadn’t made the promise to be there as he was convinced he was jinxing himself – but nope, he still got spun up and out popped Tasha’s baby three days later. If anything, his sisters were supposedly grateful because the three day notice he inadvertently gave them meant they could plan their week around the birth accordingly. 

His sisters were weirdos like that, but he loved them anyway. 

He felt bad every time he was away, knowing one of his little sister’s was in pain and he wasn’t there – after all, the rest of his family were at the hospital to support them and he knew his absence was keenly noted by all – his mother forced to worry about two of her children, rather than one – but as was pointed out to him every time he got home and apologised for not being there, he was out there risking his life to make the world a better place; a world that meant they could enjoy the lives they had. 

As much as he knew Elena and Tasha wanted their big brother there, they were also aware that his job could be unpredictable and unforgiving on the personal life. 

Oh well. As was instinctual by now, as soon as they’d landed he’d jumped into his truck and driven the three hours or so to see his family; getting to cuddle his new nephew and play with his other nieces and nephews for a few hours before crashing in his old room. After a hearty home cooked breakfast and a catch up with his mother, he gave his stepdad a hand with a bit of pest control before leaving for base – or rather, he did the rabbit shooting while his stepdad sat back and watched; offering the odd pointer and scoring his shots when he actually paid attention. 

The man had no issues with doing the job himself, but as he told Trent every time he dragged him out to the paddock he waged war on international terrorism for a job, but he still needed to earn his salt on handling the domestic terrorism that was going on in the backyard. 

In other words, his stepdad was also a weirdo. His mother was too, come to think of it, as she always gave them each a juice box and apple slices before shoving them out the door with an overly cheery ‘have fun my brave hunters!’ before cackling as she slammed the door behind them. 

He froze, his hand halfway to the lock on his cage when he realised what that meant. Oh god, he was the only sane one in his family, wasn’t he? And he was a SEAL for crying out loud, he did crazy shit all the time. Of course, the difference between him and the rest of his family of weirdos was that he was _paid_ to do crazy shit. He didn’t do crazy shit for the sake of it. 

Mostly. 

With a defeated sigh at the fact he was stuck with his family permanently – which meant he’d probably need to stage an intervention en masse at some point - he unlocked his cage and set his bag on the shelf. 

Grabbing the roll of tape he kept on hand he ripped a piece off so he could stick the photo up with the rest of the family ones, then frowned when it covered his photo of him and Cerb. With a quick shuffle around, all the photos soon became nicely arranged once again. Despite hating photos of himself, the ones he had were important to him, and he wanted them all to be visible whenever he looked at them. 

Picture arrangement sorted, he pulled out a tin of cookies his mum had made for him, helping himself to a white chocolate and raspberry one and moaning quietly as it melted in his mouth. Damn, but his crazy mother knew how to cook. Two additional cookies followed in quick succession before he set the tin aside – hidden at the back away from prying fingers – and pulled out a second container for his mother's adopted son; shaking his head fondly as the threat that echoed in his ears: _“You make sure my boy gets his biscuits, Trent Sawyer. I’ll be calling him to see if he liked them – and if he says he has no idea what I’m talking about there’ll be hell to pay. Mark my words!”_

Dropping his bag on his ammo crate, he headed for Brock's cage with the tin in hand. While Bravo might be his brothers, poor Brock had been adopted by the Sawyer clan not long after he started on the team. 

Brock’s second mission with them had ended in a fractured arm and a concussion for the canine handler. On their way to exfil he’d pushed Trent through the door of a collapsing building before being struck by large chunks of falling rubble, which in turn had Trent frog marching the concussed greenie to his truck once they landed Stateside. 

Doc had concurred that Brock was in no state to be left by himself, which meant Trent had given the non-negotiable order that the greenie and his dog were going to stay with him for the next four days. 

Unfortunately for Brock, and somewhat of an oversight by Trent, it also meant that the canine handler had to meet the Sawyer clan, because Trent had to race home to meet his new niece. 

It had only taken a five-minute explanation and a woozy hello from Brock before all three Sawyer women latched onto the curly haired brunet and adopted him into the fold. Because Brock had been out of it, and Brock was Brock even when concussed, he'd rolled with the attention from three strangers with smiles and laughter whenever he was coherent enough to do so. Trent had constantly bounced between amused and exasperated with the female Sawyers, although exasperation had won more often than not – especially when he had to repeatedly pry his mother away from his little brother when he really should’ve been in bed. 

After that weekend, Trent's family always made a point to invite their adopted son around when Trent came to visit during his leave; an offer Brock took up more often than not as he always got doted on, and Cerberus loved playing with the kids when they came to visit. 

When Brock been laid up in the hospital after the cluster fuck that was the Caracas mission, Trent had told his family about what happened; and as expected his parents threatened to drive down to check on everyone – an incident he barely managed to avoid by promising to bring Brock for a visit when he was feeling up to it. 

In the end, he had to spring Brock from Clay's care the weekend after he'd been released to spare his best friend's sanity – Clay had turned into an overbearing smother hen, and with Jason, Ray and Sonny hovering in the wings Trent had been forced to use Full Metal and Vic as a distraction so he could pull off a jailbreak. Which meant he ended up dragging his brother north to his parents house sooner than he probably should’ve. 

The bollocking he'd received from Jason over the phone had been more than worth it when he saw Brock's grin when he realised where they were going. 

Unlocking his brother's cage as Brock wasn’t there to give the tin to, he set it on the shelf – taking a quick photo and sending it to his mother with a ‘delivered as requested’ message underneath. 

Nodding to himself as the photo sent, he went to shut the cage door behind him when he paused and looked around – finally realising that something wasn’t right. He couldn’t put his finger on it at first, but as he continued scanning the cage, eyes picking over the contents slowly his frown deepened when he realised what had caught his attention. 

Just then, the door to the crew room opened and the rest of Bravo spilled in; Sonny using his crutches to hobble in behind the rest of the team – which, why in the hell was he out of bed already? And was that a _black eye_?! Jesus Christ, where the hell had that come from?! - While Clay said something that appeared to rile Sonny up. 

What else was new? 

The Texan looked around the room cautiously, as though he was wary of something before apparently relaxing when whatever he was expecting didn’t happen. Odd, but not entirely alarming, considering Sonny's stupidly long list of phobias. 

“I’m telling you, Goldilocks – you ain’t tried a true apple pie until you have the one my Grandninny makes!” 

“Well then, tell your Grandninny to make me a pie, limp-along. But this one was goooood!” 

Seriously? They were bickering about apple pie? Trent rolled his eyes because of course they were. Sonny’s life seemed to revolve around the Navy, strippers, booze and food, so he really shouldn’t have been surprised. 

“Oh yeah, I’ll just tell the woman whose been dead ten years to roll on outta her grave so she can teach you a lesson on apple pie delicacy’s. Lemme just get my phone and use the dial-a-reaper service for ya, one sec.” 

“Jesus Sonny, there’s a religious man present,” Clay scolded, smacking the Texan upside the head and dancing out of reach of both his striking hand and crutch. “Have some respect.” 

“Sonny’s never had respect before Clay,” Ray replied drily from where he was ferreting around in his cage. “Doubt he’ll start now on my account.” 

“Exactly!” Sonny agreed enthusiastically, before frowning suddenly. “Wait, what? Hey! You can’t use mind tricks on me, I’m injured and drugged – that ain’t a fair fight!” 

“It’s not like your brain functions properly anyway, hop-along. What difference do pain meds make?”

“It does too! You take that back!”

“What are you gunna do? Smack me with your crutch?”

“I’ll shove it so far up your backside -”

“Trent,” Jason nodded in greeting as he headed to his cage, ignoring the bickering pair as he usually did. “How’s the family?” 

“Good,” he replied absentmindedly, finishing his catalogue of what was missing, confirming said items were indeed missing and not just stored in the corner of Brock’s cage somewhere before turning back to the room at large. “Hey Jase, when did he leave?” 

It was weird that Brock would leave without telling him. It wasn’t just because Brock was his best friend and they normally knew what the other was up to on any given day, but the brunet had also been excited to see pictures of the newest member of the Sawyer clan. Brock was meant to go with him to meet the baby in person, but he and Cerberus had been exhausted after the last mission so Jason had ordered him home. 

Because he couldn’t go with him, they’d arranged to meet in the crew room when Trent returned so he could show him the photos of the baby – and they were meant to do that about now. Based on the missing gear, that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. 

Jason glanced over his shoulder as he shrugged out of his jacket and grabbed his cap. “When did who leave?”

“Brock,” he said slowly, as though he were talking to a five year old. Then he winced when he realised that’s exactly what he was doing, so changed his voice from Uncle-Trent to Bravo-Trent. “When did he leave?” 

“Leave base? Last night like he was ordered too, same as the rest of us. He was back about midday though.” 

An uneasy feeling settled low in his gut. “When did Brock get spun-up?” He clarified, treading carefully as he realised what was going on. Evidently Brock had been called in for a mission with another team, which would usually be fine; but if any member of Bravo got spun up without Jason knowing about it? Hoo boy, there’d be hell to pay. 

After last week’s shit show, Trent had prayed they wouldn’t have a repeat anytime soon, but apparently they were about to suffer through round two sooner than anyone would’ve liked. He braced subconsciously, because he knew the reaction wasn’t going to be good. 

The others froze. Trent stared at Jason's back. Jason slowly turned to Trent. 

“What do you mean, spun-up?” Jason asked, his voice low and bordering on dangerous. 

Shit. Just as he’d thought. “Brock and Cerb’s go-bags are missing, as are Brock’s weapons.” Items that they’d put back once they’d landed before going their separate ways. He knew that, because he’d followed Brock from the room sans his bags yesterday afternoon. 

Clay set his bag on the table and joined him at Brock’s cage to look around. His brows furrowed as he saw what Trent had. Or rather, what he hadn’t. “Trent’s right boss,” the blond said carefully, sharing a look with Trent before turning to Bravo 1. “His stuff’s gone.” 

With a growl, Jason stormed over to the cage and shouldered them both out of the way to look for himself. Trent rolled his eyes, but stayed quiet. 

Picking bags up and moving things around, Jason appeared to come to the same conclusion that the packs Brock usually took – that looked identical to the ones they _all_ took, so why he had to move things to look for what should’ve been otherwise obvious Trent had _no_ idea – weren’t there. Pulling out his phone, Jason muttered curses under his breath as he pulled up Brock’s number and hit dial, then hit speaker. 

_“Hi you’ve reached Brock Rey -”_

The voicemail that immediately played was cut short as the call was ended with a vicious stab of a finger. “BLACKBURN!” Jason roared as he stormed out of the room. The remainder of Bravo shared a look before running after him; Sonny hobbling to bring up the rear. 

In the corridor Trent looked left, then right – another roar of Blackburn’s name had him running to the left, the others on his heels, and they got there just in time for Jason to go charging into their CO’s office.

“What the HELL Blackburn?!” 

“Nice to see you too, Hayes,” Eric sighed as he set down his coffee, eyes narrowing when the rest of Bravo filed in behind their MC. “Boys.” 

“How many times have we had this discussion?” Jason snarled, slamming his hands onto the desk and leaning over it, as though trying to intimidate the man behind it. Trent smirked when Eric merely raised an eyebrow at him. Blackburn had stopped being fazed by Jason’s tantrums years ago – not that anyone had the balls to point that out though. “My men do NOT get assigned to another team without MY say-so. Why is that so hard for people to understand?!” 

Blackburn frowned. “What are you…” he trailed off, eyes glazing over slightly as he thought before he cursed and shoved out of his chair; elbowing whoever was in his path out of the way as he hurried from his office with a Bravo-stampede close behind. 

Trent shared a look with Ray, read the wince in the second’s eyes. If this was Lindell’s doing – as it undoubtedly was – there’d be absolute hell to pay.

When their new Commander had been sworn in, Jason had – despite disagreeing with several things the man did – remained respectful of the position he held, and the decisions he made. Until last week when it all went to hell, because last week Lindell reassigned Vic to Foxtrot team.

Without telling Bravo. Hell, he didn’t even tell Blackburn where Bravo's rookie was going. 

They learned about it when they entered the crew room one morning, and found Vic’s cage empty. Confused, and more than a little furious, Jason had stormed down to Blackburn’s office to demand answers - only to find Lindell in his office explaining that Bravo 7 had been reassigned indefinitely.

From what Trent had gathered later on, the Green Team recruit from Vic’s intake that Foxtrot had taken had been medically discharged due to injury after their last spin-up; their final spin-up right before their deployment. Suddenly a pack member short, it had been a scramble as to who would step in to replace him for the three month stint overseas.

Lindell calmly pointed out – far too calmly in his opinion – that at the end of the day, he made the overall decision on his squads. Apparently, his choice of SEALs that would fill that slot on Foxtrot had been either Brock – an experienced, dependable and sharp operator who would contribute a fresh yet seasoned set of eyes to the team, or Vic - a new, impressionable operator with the foundations set in place, ready to be built upon. Eventually he’d chosen Vic, given that he was the newest and would get more out of the reassignment than Brock would. Plus, Foxtrot already had a canine handler, so it was an unnecessary double up.

The realisation of how close they’d been to losing Brock had chilled Trent to the core. It was hard to imagine Bravo without the curly-haired brunet, yet he'd very nearly found himself having to do so. Thankfully said situation was avoided – but it was at Vic’s expense.

Naturally, Jason had demanded to speak to Vic. Lindell had told him Vic had shipped out five hours prior with his new squad – but once he was back from deployment he’d talk to the young SEAL to see if he wanted to return to Bravo, or stay with Foxtrot permanently. 

Yeah. It hadn’t gone down well. 

And with Brock now gone, Trent foresaw a fit of epic proportions in Bravo’s near future if there was anything less than a perfectly valid reason for their brother’s re-assignment.

When they got close to Lindell’s office, Trent winced. Jason was already changing colour when his suspicions were confirmed for who was responsible.

Yeah, this would go reeeeeally well. Not.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Jason snarled, grabbing the attention of the desk-bound woman on her computer who stood to face the oncoming stampede.

“Sir, Captain Lindell is currently unavailable,” Lindell’s clerk told Blackburn, neatly stepping into his path and halting their progress. “You’ll have to come back later.”

“I need to speak with him immediately,” Blackburn countered as he continued forward, only to come to a sudden stop when his path was blocked again.

“His orders were clear – he was not to be disturbed for the next three hours, so you’ll need to come back later.”

“Not good enough!” Jason snapped, barely restrained by Blackburn as he tried to push past. “We’re talking to him. Now!”

“Stand down Jason,” Eric snapped, looking to Ray and Clay to hold Bravo 1 back. They stepped up and grabbed him as silently instructed, but it was obvious they were just as pissed. “You bellowing like an injured bull isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

“It will if it gets you lot out of my hair,” an irritable looking Lindell said from his doorway. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

“Bravo 5 sir,” Blackburn said after shoving Jason back with a pointed glare. “Master Chief Hayes believes Warfare Officer Reynolds has been spun up for a mission without his prior knowledge.”

“Master Chief Hayes would be correct,” Lindell replied. “I apologise I didn’t notify you sooner that Reynolds and Kairos had been reassigned, but the mission was urgent.”

“ _Two_ of my men?!” Jason exploded in disbelief, and even Trent looked at their Commander like he’d grown a second head. Had he seriously forgotten last week’s confrontation already?! “You’re kidding me, right?!” 

“May I remind you that both men are part of the United States Navy, and will go wherever their Commanding Officer – that would be _me_ by the way – sends them. Is that a problem?” 

“Considering we were due to be spun up tomorrow for another mission? Yes sir, it’s a problem,” Jason snapped.

“That assignment has been handed to Charlie team as they completed their previous mission ahead of schedule. Agent Ellis has already briefed them and they’re due to take off at 1700 hours tomorrow.” Lindell checked his watch before scrubbing his eyes, and it was only then that Trent realised how tired the man looked.

“Due to his skillset and recent training with the SAS, Kairos was automatically assigned to the mission before we’d even been fully apprised of the situation. But I assure you, you were meant to be informed before Reynolds got on the plane – unfortunately the situation kept evolving and I’ve been stuck in meetings with the DoD, CIA and British Intelligence since last night. The plane lifted long before my last meeting finished, and this is the first time in twelve hours I’ve been away from a phone call.”

Trent heard the unspoken _‘I was trying to catch a few hours sleep before you came charging in,’_ loud and clear. He had yet to decide if he felt bad about it, though.

Apparently Jason heard it too, because he exhaled heavily but backed off. “I’m to be read in on the mission,” he said instead, his tone leaving no room for argument. He didn’t back down as far as Trent thought he should’ve – as in, he should’ve stopped throwing his weight around demanding answers, so he could just _hear_ the repercussions Bravo would face for their leader’s attitude – but If he wasn’t so angry with Brock being reassigned himself, he might actually give a damn. “I want to know exactly what my men are walking into.”

“You are aware _I’m_ the one who gives the orders, correct?” Lindell asked wryly.

Jason nodded once. “Yes sir.”

Amusement seemed to flick across the Captain’s face, but it was gone too quickly for Trent to be sure. “Good,” Lindell said before shutting the door behind him and leading them to the Ops room. “I just wanted to be sure.” 

* * *

**_1630 EDT -_** ** _Virginia Naval Base_** \- **_Operations Room_**

“Jesus,” Clay muttered, his eyes wide when Lindell finished talking. “Do the SAS really think they can stop this from happening?” 

Trent couldn’t help but agree. A terrorist attack on an airport that almost never stopped made it a prime target to make a statement and introduce yourself to the world. An attack on an airport already well known for being the site of the biggest aviation disaster in history? Tenerife would almost certainly never recover from a second blow, regardless of what caused the deaths. 

“Based on the intel they believe that two specialised teams would have no problem handling the situation,” Lindell replied, looking at a file Davis handed him. “As I’m sure you can now appreciate, due to the complexity of the situation Reynolds was brought in as this mission, without question, requires a dog team. The SAS have their own, but we also needed one to ensure maximum coverage. Not only was he the only K-9 team on hand, but aside from Delta's dog team Reynolds is the only one skilled enough for this type of mission. He was the only choice.” 

“Of course he was,” Sonny grunted in agreement. “Damn kid holds the monopoly on handling a working dog.” 

“It's why he’s with the best,” Lindell conceded, and damn if that didn’t knock Trent for six – Lindell almost never outright acknowledged Bravo's achievements. Evidently he was more tired than he let on. 

“How long until they touch down?” Blackburn asked, looking at his file. “Wait, they’re landing at Madrid? Isn’t that significantly out of the way?” A phone rang, and Trent spared Davis a quick glance as she went to answer it.

“Only by three hours. Neither the North nor South airport is designed to cater for a C-17; not to mention it’s a dead giveaway for their arrival. They'll land at the airfield British Intelligence dictates and from there will take a private jet to the South airport to avoid detection. Then they'll drive over to the North airfield for infil,” Lindell replied.

“Petty Officer Davis speaking,” Davis said, pricking Trent’s attention for a split second, but it was grabbed entirely when Lisa's back went ramrod straight in her telltale sign of trouble. Looking over her shoulder, her expression was tense. “Sir, I have Commander MacTavish on the line – he says it’s urgent.”

Lindell set his file down and strode across the room, all of Bravo turning to watch the man as he took the call.

Trent knew that something had happened the moment the man froze. “One second MacTavish. Davis, get a video feed up.”

As instructed, Davis pulled up a feed that appeared on the main screen at the head of the table; giving Bravo a view of a middle aged, well-built soldier on the other end. A man who was looking harried as people raced around behind him.

Trent’s heart dropped.

“Gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you to Commander MacTavish; my equivalent in the British SAS. MacTavish, Bravo. Can you please repeat what you just told me to the rest of my team.”

 _“We received a call from British Intelligence fifteen minutes ago,”_ a distinctly Scottish accent replied, and despite his worry Trent had to duck his head to hide his smile. Brock and Clay thought Scottish and Irish accents were hilarious and often used them whenever they were goofing off together. Sonny on the other hand hated them because he could never understand the pair when they used the accents on him. A quick glance showed Clay subtly perking up, whilst Sonny’s eyes narrowed into his ‘I’m-trying-to-understand-you face’. 

Both brothers were so predictable. 

_“They’ve received word of a second airport attack; we’re currently trying to verify the intel, but from what we’re hearing it’s pretty damn solid.”_

Oh _shit_. 

He shared a look with Jason, saw the worry in his friend's eyes. 

“Where’s this attack taking place?” Jason asked evenly. 

_“Heathrow.”_

The room, although already quiet went dead silent. Even the corporals on their computers stopped typing; looking up in alarm. 

“Holy shit,” Sonny muttered, going pale as he processed the implications of such an attack. Trent knew the rest of them wouldn’t look any better. 

_“As you can appreciate, an attack on an airport this size is going to be extremely difficult to contain, never mind handling the fallout if they’re successful. We’re rolling out all the SAS units we have on hand and redirecting the team who were on their way to assist Delta to deal with this. Unfortunately, it means we’re no longer able to help your boys – they’re on their own.”_

There were several curses at that. Tenerife could be successfully handled by two teams, but one? There would be casualties regardless of how quickly they moved. “Is there any chance the Heathrow chatter is a diversion?” Clay asked. “Designed to divide resources?”

 _“Even if it is, we have to treat it as an actual threat,”_ MacTavish replied. It was clear he was as frustrated as the rest of them, but Trent couldn’t blame the man for pulling his team. At the end of the day, Heathrow was too vital, not to mention massive, to leave to what-if’s. _“If we don’t respond, and it wasn’t a hoax? The fallout is something I don’t even want to think about. Your team will just have to do what they can, Lindell. I wish that wasn’t the case, but my hands are tied.”_

Lindell looked at Jason and nodded before turning back to the screen. “Well it’s a good thing I have Bravo Team here; they’ll roll out immediately to assist Delta.”

 _“They’re three hours behind your initial response team,”_ MacTavish pointed out. _“They won’t get there in time.”_

“Well they better haul ass then,” Lindell replied. Jason stood, the rest of Bravo following suit and they all headed for the door. “I’m going to continue briefing my team; I’ll call you in twenty.”

 _“Understood,”_ MacTavish replied. _"Good luck gents.”_

“Same to you, Commander,” Ray – who was now closest to the monitor - replied; Bravo nodding in agreement before the feed was cut. 

* * *

Greyson followed Bravo to the crew room and watched the team grab their gear; his eyes narrowing when he realised _everyone_ was gearing up. “Petty Officer Quinn, while I appreciate your desire to assist your teammates, your injury makes you a liability.” 

Predictably, the hot-headed Texan spun to look at him, affronted. “I can still -” 

“You’re sitting this one out, Quinn,” he interrupted, cutting Bravo 3 off. “It’s non-negotiable.” And it wasn’t. Regardless of Quinn's opinion on the matter, he wasn’t going to put a medically compromised man in the line of fire – certainly not when it could get him or others killed. He looked at Hayes, already knowing that being two men short – three if you included Kairos – wasn't ideal. 

Thankfully he already had a solution that he _knew_ Bravo would be happy with. “I’ll arrange for Alpha to come in and assist. The safety of all civilians and the success of the mission is paramount, and the new target shows this group is not above changing things up. The more men on this, the better.” He refused to let the Navy suffer bad press for not putting as many people on the job as possible, and with Alpha currently in between missions they were the logical choice to bring on board. 

He turner to leave and ignored Quinn’s pleading: “Jase. C’mon man -” to his Master Chief. Hayes knew better than to contradict an order such as this; especially when doing so would jeopardise his team and the lives of every civilian at the airport. 

“Sorry Son, he’s right. As much as I’d like you there, you can’t walk.”

“At least let me come along, I might be able to do _something_ to help! I’ll drive a car, anything!”

He frowned, and after a second sighed. While Quinn wouldn’t be any good in the field, he couldn’t deny that the man would provide the support team with an extra set of eyes that could, for all he knew, be the difference between pulling the mission off or failing it. 

Turning, he gave Bravo 3 a hard stare; ignoring the half-defiant, half-wary look the man was giving him. “Delta will be wearing cameras on their helmets to assist us in identifying any attackers and bombs they may come across. You’re permitted to go on the plane to assist with monitoring the feeds and relaying any relevant information to Alpha and Bravo. You are _not_ to assist in any frontline work, is that clear? I will not put any of my operators at risk because you want to play hero.” 

“Understood sir,” Quinn replied quickly, his face displaying a rare case of seriousness. “Thank you, sir.” 

He nodded. “I’m going to go call Alpha in; as soon as you’re sorted I would suggest organising whatever gear of theirs you can immediately - I'll tell them to call you if they have anything else to add. Petty Officer Davis will have an updated and in-depth briefing packet for you before you leave. Good luck gentlemen.” 

Leaving Bravo to get themselves ready, Greyson prayed that the plane would get Bravo and Alpha there in time to actually make a difference. He refused to lose three teams to these terrorists. As soon as he knew who they were, they were going to learn that you don’t mess with innocent lives for the sake of publicity.

He’d make sure of it.


	4. Your Mission, Should You Choose To Accept It

**A/N: Hello all! Plans are finally in motion, which is good because once things kick off there’ll be no looking back! Mwahaha. Sorry that it’s taken four chapters and we’re still on the plane, but the setup is important so we can dive straight into the good stuff further in – which is why I don’t want to rush things just now. But if it makes you feel any better, there’s all these tidbits for you lovely people to stew on that may or may not grow into something bigger, and mini easter eggs to find: kudos to remiparker for spotting my Call Of Duty reference with Soap MacTavish :P I absolutely adore the COD storylines, and bringing him in was an added bonus for me! #Soaplives #otherCODcharactersmayappear  
**

**As we’re getting into abbreviations of terminologies a bit more again, they’ll be noted at the bottom of the chapter for you if needed, plus a couple of other random facts that are touched on here.  
**

**Also, not even lying – the original title for this chapter was “Roll Me In Maps And Call Me The Unicorn Wrangler." As you can see, this has since been changed :P**

**Special shoutout to:[illyria13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyria13), [FlutieCutie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlutieCutie), [TinyNinjaWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyNinjaWolf), [Samsam572](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samsam572), [FancyHippopotamoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyHippopotamoose), [Quetzalcoatl_hime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quetzalcoatl_hime), [burn_me_down](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burn_me_down), [KazooKaren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren), [nhardoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhardoy), [ghostwriter_44](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwriter_44), [Raeschiev9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raeschiev9), [ShellyFanFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic), [Hayzkid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hayzkid), [Irish1969](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish1969), [Laura42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura42), [Floopdeedoopdee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floopdeedoopdee), [Eggerthella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggerthella), [purplerain88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplerain88), [blabliblablu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blabliblablu), [TheLaurinchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLaurinchen), [MiaMalfoy716](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaMalfoy716), [CamilleMadeAnAccount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount), [Jemmacatt14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemmacatt14), [Wurdsmadder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wurdsmadder), [NobodyKnowsWhoIAM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobodyKnowsWhoIAM), and [Bastet5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastet5) as well as the 41 guests who've commented and kudosed. You guys are awesome!**

* * *

**_2330 WET / 1930 EDT – Virginia Naval Base Airstrip - C-17 hold_**

Jason looked up from the briefing packet Davis had given him when two cars pulled up at the base of the ramp, and he stood when Alpha exited the vehicles with bags in hand. 

“Metal,” he greeted Alpha 1, joining his brother half way up the ramp. “Good to see you.” And it was. He’d gotten so used to the man’s presence over the last few months that it had been strange not having Scott on the team anymore. 

While he was thrilled that all the grounded Alpha members had been cleared to return to active service, it had meant the loss of Metal’s dry wit and grouchy demeanor to Bravo. But the man was back where he belonged, and it was evident he was pleased to be rolling with his squad. 

“Hey Jase,” Metal replied, clapping him on the shoulder. “Thanks for getting our gear sorted – saved us time.” 

“I disagree,” Lochy Hollier, Alpha’s sniper and 2IC grumbled as he walked past. “Quinn packs bags like a goddamn three year old.” 

“I do not!” Sonny retorted hotly, and Jason rolled his eyes. “I was careful when I packed your bag, your ungrateful twit.” 

Lochy looked at the Texan and shook a bag that had several sleeves hanging out from under the flap, making Jason wince. The man was a neat freak, which of course meant that packing like Sonny - who gave zero care to uniform – would of course not be satisfactory to the 2IC. 

Which is probably why he packed the man’s bag in the first place. 

Sonny shrugged, which confirmed he’d done it deliberately. “Who gives a shit about a uniform, Hollier? We’re going to stop terrorists, not enter some Spanish fashion show, Jesus. ‘Sides, your guns are fine ain’t they?” 

Jason and Metal shared a look before following Lochy into the hold, the man stomping the whole way and missing Sonny’s smirk. Jason looked at his brother pointedly, then rolled his eyes when the Texan gave him a lazy salute. Asshole. 

“So, what’s going on?” Metal asked as he and his team set their bags down in a crate for takeoff. “The message said to get here ASAP, and Lindell said you’d brief us when he stuck his head in the crew room.” 

An alarm blared twice in warning, and the ramp started to lift. “Terrorist attack at Tenerife airport,” he replied, taking a seat and strapping in for the imminent rollout. “Blackburn and Davis are going to brief us the moment we’re in the air as things have changed already; but it’s pretty bad.” 

“My first Unicorn,” Scott replied, strapping in next to him and looking about as excited as someone who’d stepped in dog shit. “I’m so excited.” 

Jason gave him the side-eye. “How do you do that?” 

“Do what?” 

“You say one thing, and yet your face says something completely different.” 

“Its cause the wind changed on him on his way here,” Alex Lang, Alpha 5 and their medic said from where he was sitting next to Trent across the way, obviously having overheard the question. “The ugly’s gunna stick I’m afraid.” 

“And you don’t have anything to fix it?” he replied, smirking at the blond next to him. “What a shame.” 

“Bite me, the pair of you,” Metal grumbled before wiggling in his seat to get comfortable. “Besides, you can’t fix perfection.” 

Jason snorted and closed his eyes, when Scott’s question made him open them again. 

“Where’s Reynolds?” 

He looked at his brother, found the man frowning as he looked around. It was pretty obvious Brock was missing, given there was only one dog in sight; Ruby curled on a seat next to her handler and looking somewhat put out at the lack of her usual friend that accompanied Bravo. 

“Our boy got spun up with Delta,” Ray, who had just sat down opposite them explained, Hollier next to him. “Their K-9 team is still sidelined, so he was brought in as cover.” 

“Doesn’t Lindell know Reynolds is a goddamn trouble magnet?” Metal grunted, his eyebrows furrowing in remembrance. After Caracas, he’d started keeping a closer eye on Brock after they’d both wound up in the hospital – and it was after being discharged that he gained an appreciation for the state of constant grief Jason suffered, courtesy of the youngest Bravo brothers. He was genuinely surprised the man hadn’t been grounded for insanity already. 

Jase evidently had nerves of titanium or something. Thank Christ his own team were as exciting as a sack of potatoes when it came to drama though; he barely coped with wrangling brothers on another team – to hell with doing it fulltime on his own. 

“Apparently not, because Lindell spun him up without telling Jase first.” All the Alpha members nearby who heard, whistled lowly. “Yeah, it went down as well as you can probably imagine.” 

“I fuckin’ bet,” Metal rumbled, looking at Jason in surprise. “How many people did he need to pry you off?” 

“Oh fuck off the lot of you,” Jason grumbled, folding his arms across his chest and slouching in his seat. “I’m not that bad.” 

“Yes you are,” everyone nearby – which, apparently, was every goddamn person on board - replied in unison. 

Jason shut his eyes so he could ignore them. Assholes, the lot of them. 

* * *

**_2330 WET / 1930 EDT – Somewhere over the North Atlantic - C-17 hold_**

The silence in the hold was broken only by the thrumming whine of the plane’s engines. 

Brock looked at his Delta brothers and was certain his expression mirrored theirs. The latest update changed _everything_. 

With the British SAS now out of the picture, they were on their own. 

“Well shit,” Kit muttered, looking around furtively. “Now what?” 

“There’s no way we can do this with one team and four EOD’s,” Kairos added, looking nervous for the first time Brock could ever recall. “It doesn’t matter how good we are; the airport is too big for the ten of us.” 

Brock couldn’t help but agree, because that was the crux of the issue, wasn’t it? Unlike the rest of the SEAL units, Delta didn’t have a militarized support team that could assist them now that the SAS were out of the picture. 

When he’d first joined Bravo, Kit had made a passing comment about Delta not having a support team like everyone else. When he asked why, Kit had explained that Delta’s skills were highly specialised and their missions usually required stealth over force; which meant a support squad would rarely be required – which meant a waste of assets that could otherwise be used elsewhere. That and they normally rolled with the SAS or another team because their missions generally had several governments wanting their people on the ground, so they worked as backup for each other. 

Unfortunately for them, what was previously a logical decision was now likely to cost them the mission and who knew how many lives. 

“It’s shit,” Flynn conceded, “but it is what it is. Besides, no one here is unfamiliar with FUBAR situations, which means this is no different. So, we’ll do what SEALs do best – pull off some unbelievable shit and get the job done. Now,” he rolled out a map of the airport, and everyone huddled closer. “As you can see we’re looking at a four-story structure, but in reality it’s an underground garage, the ground floor, a mezzanine and the first floor. The airport has twelve gates and one terminal area for passengers to check-in. Basically, it’s big, but not so big that we can’t cover the majority of it with good planning.” 

The man grabbed a set of markers, and Brock cocked his head as Flynn started circling areas of the airport in four different colours; each circle encompassing ten stars that had been drawn, and two on each floor. “Based on the intel, each star represents the location of a bomb – as you can see; that’s a hell of a lot of explosives for a terminal this size.” 

“Goddamn overkill is what it is,” Troy grumbled, glaring at the blueprints. 

Flynn nodded. “Either the explosives they’re using aren’t good enough to cause the damage they need – perhaps because the good stuff is being used at Heathrow - or they’ve placed that many deliberately.” 

“They want to make sure nothing stays standing,” Winters said, tapping one of the stars. “The explosives are on support columns; anyone not immediately killed by the blast will be crushed by the rubble.” 

“We’re certain there’s no explosives in the garage?” Springfield added. “It’d guarantee everyone dying if the floor gave way with the rest of the building.” 

“Nothing that’s been identified,” Flynn replied. “That question was asked by one of the analysts and they suspect that it could be where the terrorists will base themselves before trying to escape. Plus,” he pulled up a map of the garage to show them, and Brock immediately knew why the terrorists hadn’t bothered with that level. “It’s actually connected to the terminal by a ramp, so it doesn’t sit directly beneath the rest of the building. They probably thought it was a waste of time.” 

“What’s the building made out of?” Troy asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Any chance it’s not modern enough that the materials aren’t concrete?” 

“There was a complete overhaul done about eighteen years ago,” Flynn replied, acknowledging the frustrated groans with a grimace. “It was demolished and rebuilt to better cater to the high volumes of passengers passing through. And when I say high volumes, to give you boys an indication of what we’re dealing with here Tenerife has two airports – North and South. North is the one we’re going to, because that was the site of the original disaster in the 70’s - and nearly five and a half million passengers passed through that building alone in 2018.” 

“Fuck.” 

Fuck was right. Brock knew little about Tenerife beyond its location and its blackened history, but apparently it was a tourist hotspot which meant that no matter what happened today, people were undoubtedly going to die, regardless of what they did. There were just too many people to save, and not enough SEALs to do it. 

“So what do we do?” Kit asked, his mouth twisting in displeasure. “Can we tell the police to evacuate the building?” 

“Even with all four police departments on this, the casualties would be through the roof if they tried,” Flynn replied. “The analysts ran the numbers and deduced that we’d still stand the better chance. Fact of the matter is, the Guardia are the only ones trained for these types of situations – but not to this extent. Anyone else’s involvement will create more problems than it’s worth. Plus, there’s some big event in town – the other divisions are patrolling that to ensure people behave.” 

“They’ve done their planning,” he mused, before pointing at the map. “But this confuses me – for a group that appears to be so sophisticated, planting bombs on support columns will be pretty damn obvious to anyone walking past. We must be missing something.” 

“Brock’s right,” Kairos agreed, looking through the file on the table. “There’s talk of all these explosives, yet no one’s seeing them? Unless they’re setting them last minute or hollowing out the support columns to hide them in, but considering the time needed to do that I highly doubt it.” 

Flynn folded his arms over his chest and nodded. “That was my thought too, so I asked for someone to contact the airport manager to find out if anything had changed at the building lately that would allow for easy concealment.” His face twisted in displeasure; everyone around him narrowing their eyes worriedly. “The man was... less than helpful. I’d go so far as to say he probably enjoys his drugs and booze far too much to be of any use to us.” 

“Just what we don’t need,” Brock sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So, what do we do?” 

“The infil will consist of two teams; Troy, Reece and the four EODs will come in via the roof for overwatch, the rest will enter through the main doors; find what you can and deal with it. Any hostiles are to be eliminated immediately, but the CIA have said they’d appreciate it if you could keep one or two alive for questioning. After the initial infil, you’ll split into four teams of two, with two floaters. Troy you’re with Springfield on the top floor in zone one, Sam with Winters in zone two, Kit with Kairos in zone three on the ground floor and Reece with Jackson in zone four. Brock will float between teams to help as needed, and Tim’ll tend anyone injured.” 

Flynn sighed and ran a hand over his eyes tiredly. “Quite frankly, this is a shitshow boys – there’s no other way of putting it. After the SAS pulled out, Lindell spun Alpha and Bravo up for an assist – but they’re going to get there well after the fact so we can’t count on them.” 

He pulled out a map that showed the Canary Islands and part of the eastern coast of Europe. “Because none of the islands have runways capable of holding a C-17’s weight, we’re landing at the international airport in Madrid. We’re scheduled to land at 0230 their time, which means that it’ll be pitch black and we can slip in unseen to any red eyers. The airport will shut off all lights for our pilots, and they’ll land using their NODs to better hide us – the airport has also delayed flights half an hour either side of us landing and has cleared a section of the airport to hide us around the corner. Once we land, we’ll then board a private jet the Spanish government has arranged for us and will fly to the Southern airport. From there, we’ll drive over for the assault. They’ve also organised Guardia patches for us, so you’ll be wearing those when you enter the airport.” 

Brock nodded along, seeing the merits in the plan for what they were. By all appearances, when they got there they would – hopefully - look like a standard police team, which wouldn’t look out of place. 

“Our support will do the same, but will make their way over by helo to assist with the cleanup if needed. The decision to have them land at the target was scrapped as we don’t know what the situation will be when they arrive, and we don’t want to put anyone else in danger. Plus, if we’re still in the thick of things their arrival could push the terrorists into setting everything off faster than we can cope. We’ve given ourselves a three hour window before anything is supposed to go down, so there should be plenty of time to minimise the fall out. Assuming everything goes to plan, we should be wrapping up about 0830 at the latest.” 

Straightening, Flynn lifted his chin which in turn prompted the rest of them to stand a little straighter. “The goal is simple. Do what you can to disarm the bombs, but the mission is to save the civilians – just not at your expense. People are going to die; we just have to limit the number that do.” He looked at each of them pointedly, only moving on when they nodded in acknowledgement. “Don’t take unnecessary risks; make sure you come home after this. Am I clear?” 

After they all murmured their agreement, Flynn visibly deflated. “We’re still about three hours out – go get some shut eye if you can; we’ve got a long slog ahead of us.” 

* * *

Brock sat down heavily, the implications of the task before him swirling in his head noisily. 

What he wouldn’t give to have Bravo with him about now, the reassurance of his brothers, his _family_ at his back as he walked into hell. 

If he was honest with himself, he hated missions like this; ones where casualties were guaranteed no matter what you did, or how good you were. In actual fact, it was one of the reasons he hated his job sometimes. But whenever the thought crossed his mind, he made sure to remind himself that if it wasn’t him out there doing what needed to be done, then who else would it be? 

Generally that was enough to put his mind at ease, but for whatever reason it only made him feel worse. 

Cerberus snuggled into his side, and he wrapped his arms around the Malagator, cuddling him close. As long as his boy made it out of this at the end, he’d stomach whatever he was about to walk into. 

“Well this is a shit sandwich, innit?” Kit muttered as he dropped down on Cerb’s other side, patting his flank when the dog stretched his legs towards him. “I don’t think I’ve seen Flynn look so downtrodden before.” 

“Can’t blame him,” he replied, sighing quietly. “That time of the morning there’s bound to be who knows how many people in the terminal, and every one of them could die today.” 

Kit shuddered visibly. “I’ve never regretted where my life has led me, and I know I never will, but god I hate this job sometimes.” 

“I hear you,” he replied, extending his fist which Kit bumped – the gesture holding none of the usual enthusiasm either of them used. Watching the rest of Delta move about the plane, and nodding to Kairos when the man headed towards them, he turned back to Kit. “Fill me in on your team, would you? So’s I know who’s who.” He knew most of the Delta boys, but anything beyond their names and call signs was a mystery – something that needed rectifying immediately before he went running headfirst into this shitshow. 

Kairos dropped into a seat opposite them, and to Brock’s surprise the three other EOD’s were right behind him. 

“Ooh goody, story time,” Autumn exclaimed, but her tone was as flat as her eyes. Evidently Brock wasn’t the only one who needed distracting. 

“Uh,” Kit stumbled, before shaking away the surprise of suddenly having an audience. 

“Okay, so you’ve met our Lieutenant Commander Leroy Flynn; previous Delta SEAL who chose to go the command route when he got tired of field work. Command wouldn’t usually take an NCO on for the LC position, but when he spoke to the Captain about how else he could be useful it wasn’t even thought to be an issue, because he had an insight to the team none of Delta’s previous Commanders had. He’s also a pilot, started flying when he was a kid and did a bit of work for the navy in his spare time. Got us outta the shit a time or two, if I’m honest. 

“Troy Banks is our Master Chief, and there’s a pool going for how long it’ll take him to follow in Flynn’s footsteps; he’s damn good in charge, and everyone – including Lindell – knows it. He’s pretty damn handy with a sniper rifle but does better with hand to hand combat, and is an all around badass.” 

Pointing to Delta 2 he said, “Sam Stone, our Senior Chief who specialises in munitions and demolition. Any new EOD course, he’s at it and will then teach it to the rest of us if he thinks it’s needed. You want to blow something up? He’ll be holding the charge and a set of earplugs, raring to go. Pretty certain he was a pyromaniac in a previous life because he has a weird obsession for making things go boom. 

“Tim Death, aka Dr Death -” he nodded when the rest of them snorted, “- yeah his profession doesn’t suit his name, that’s for sure. If you need him, just say Doc or Delta 3 to avoid any unnecessary panic. I learned that the hard way, yikes.” He shuddered at the memory, and Brock made a note to ask him about it later. It sounded like a story that would be entertaining at his friend’s expense. “The guy is damn good at what he does, almost as good as Sawyer I’d bet. He’s also damn handy at multi-tasking; you don’t know what pressure is until you’re trying to sew someone back together and shooting tangos at the same time. I have mad respect for him, that’s for damn sure.” 

Brock was impressed. Trent had yet to be in a position where he had to shoot and sew, so perhaps putting his brother through a round of paintball when he was home to practice wouldn’t be a bad idea. Upskill, and all that. Plus, the opportunity to get payback for the paintball to the ass the medic gave him last time was too good to pass up. 

“Roy isn’t here, hence us being stuck with your ugly mug Broccoli,” Kit continued, grinning when Brock clipped him over the head. “At least we get Bus though, so that’s a bonus.” 

“Y’know, I can’t even be bothered correcting you,” Brock muttered, tugging his dog closer. “You’re a dick though, just fyi.” 

“Duly noted Broccoli. Then there’s me – your handsome, dashing, strapping, look-like-I’ve-been-dipped-in-caramel Delta 5 who’s a sniper and the team driver by day, and a ladies man by night.” Autumn giggled when he winked at her, so Brock leaned over and clipped Kit over the head. Again. 

“Oi, careful – you could give me brain damage, you keep hitting me like that.” 

“You’re already brain damaged, so it’s not like there’s a serious issue with a few extra blows to the hollow thing attached to your body.” 

“I take offense to that, dearest green tree-like vegetable. Anyway, after me is our newest brother, Reece Ramirez; he’s also a sniper, and he’s been shadowing Sam so he may branch out into munitions at some point further down the line. And... that’s about it, I guess. The happy little Delta family with Bravo’s resident vegetable for a tag-along.” 

Winters and Springfield were grinning widely. “I’m guessing you two have known each other for a while, then?” Winters asked. 

“Unfortunately,” Brock grunted, rubbing Cerberus’ ears and ignoring the insult. “Dude’s like a fungus – latches on and won’t let go no matter how hard you try to scrape him off.” 

“Wha -” Kit gasped, placing a hand over his heart and looking utterly offended. “A _fungus_? But Broccoli, my little green floret, you _love_ me for who I am! Your bestest friend in the whole wide world!” 

Brock rolled his eyes at his friend’s antics, ignoring the four EODs who’d nearly fallen out of their seats laughing, and flipped him the bird. “Oh yeah, I love you about as much as I love a swift kick to the teeth,” he replied overly sappy, batting his eyelashes for effect. “Just, _so_ much.” 

“Oh god,” Autumn snorted, covering her mouth to hide her grin. “I’ve changed my mind; we’re keeping both of them.” 

Brock groaned. “I can’t _be_ kept,” he whined, certain he’d already told them this. “And I don’t want to be kept with him! Besides, Jason will kill me! The fact he let me go on this mission without at least one member of Bravo along for the ride is weird enough as it is!” 

“Well they are coming as backup,” Kairos said, “and I’m here, so I guess that counts?” 

He pointed at him. “This is true. If I get kidnapped by your lot, you can be the one who explains to Jason what happened.” 

Kairos shuddered. “Hell no. No thank you; I ain’t having that conversation with him or Trent, they’d hogtie me and strap me to the front of Jason’s truck as punishment.” He turned to the other three. “Sorry guys, you can’t keep him; he’s being returned to Bravo at the end of this.” 

Winters leaned over Springfield and patted Kairos on the head. “Don’t worry buddy, we’ll handle the big bad Bravo 1.” 

Brock sighed in defeat and leaned his head against the wall. Evidently, he wasn’t going to get through to them just how defensive Jason was of his team. After losing Vic to Foxtrot, and Scott returning to Alpha, Jason had been more territorial of late. He was genuinely surprised the man had let him spin-up without telling him in person he was going with Delta; taking the opportunity to do the usual ‘watch yourself or so help me’ pep talk the team usually got whenever they were sent off on their own. 

Oh well. He - 

A stray thought entered his mind and he froze, going cold at the realisation he had it all wrong - the talking around him fading to white noise as it sunk in. 

Oh god. 

It wasn’t that Jason had chosen not to tell him he was going with Delta because he trusted him, it was because Jason – somehow, who knew how it happened but it didn’t matter because he could guarantee it wouldn’t happen again – had _no idea_ he’d been spun up with Delta in the first place. 

Oh shit. Jason was going to _kill_ him. 

It’s not like it was his fault; Kit had told him Jason knew – and that was likely because that’s what he’d been told. Brock wasn’t an idiot, for Christ’s sake – Jason’s warning after the vanishing Vic debacle had been drilled into each and every one of them to “check with him before going anywhere that wasn’t with Bravo, I don’t give a shit who gave you the order”. But he’d been _told_ that Jason knew, and that it was a time sensitive mission – which it was, so it’s not like he could run off and check. 

In other words, it wasn’t his fault! 

But would Jason believe him? No. No, he would not. Or maybe he would, after Brock had been tied to his cage for a week so he couldn’t leave anyone’s sight, all because he apparently couldn’t follow instructions. 

No thanks. If he was lucky, maybe he could get his transfer papers into Lindell before Bravo got to the airport. Suddenly, joining the EODs seemed like a stellar idea. Why had he been so reluctant? 

But then the thought of Trent’s hurt disappointment, and Clay’s kicked-dog routine, and Sonny’s indignance, and Ray’s sadness, and Jason’s fury – which would be conveyed by The Eyebrows of Disappointment™ – swamped him, and he knew deep down he’d suffer whatever he had too to make it up to Bravo, because they were his family and he didn’t want to be on a team without them. 

Oh yeah. That’s why he’d been so reluctant. 

Aware that he would have to face the music at the end of the mission, he sagged in defeat. Christ. The day really couldn’t get any worse, could it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In 2012 a Tornado passed through Whenuapai and Hobsonville in Auckland, New Zealand. Tornados are an extremely rare occurrence in NZ, and this one did a fair bit of damage. At the time, I was in the Air Scouts and my dad was not only in the Airforce, but the Scout Troop leader as well. We organized a working bee to help clean up a lot of the damage around the Scout Den area in Whenuapai, and some guys from the Airforce came to assist – one of them was known as Dr Death, as his surname was Death (I don’t actually think he was a Dr, but it was his nickname). His name was the inspiration for Delta 3.
> 
> ***
> 
> The stats for Tenerife North are accurate, as per the Tenerife North website. For such a small island, my jaw dropped a bit when I read that. That’s a shit tonne of people, and doesn’t include the Southern airports numbers! You can also google a map layout of the airport should you want reference. I have no clue how to attach it to the end notes, so if anyone knows how help a sister out? Otherwise I'll attach it to my Tumblr account with any other random bits of information for you :)
> 
> ***
> 
> LC – Lieutenant Commander
> 
> MC – Master Chief
> 
> NOD’s - Night Optical/Observation Device. These are also referred to as NVG’s – Night Vision Goggles which, fun fact, the pilots I work with are trained to use for any Search and Rescue work they might get.
> 
> NCO – Non-Commissioned Officer aka someone who ‘enlisted’. Commissioned Officers (at least for the US military) usually go through an academy of some kind before joining the military, resulting in a ‘commissioned status’ (according to Wiki, and my ex-airforce dad!), but they’re sometimes viewed as the blustering commander, when it’s really the NCO’s doing all the heavy work (thanks war movies!).


	5. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

**A/N: Hello again all you lovely people! Things are a-movin'! If it makes you feel any better, it appears that Chapter 7 is when shit will start to go down, so your patience is paying off because you only have one more chapter to go until we get there - woot!**

**Not much to say here, other than enjoy! However you will notice that Brock uses a couple of commands for Cerb, which the translations are noted in the bottom section for you if you'd like them :)**

**Also, I now have a new story idea (why brain... omg O.o) which is based on Call of Duty 2 - escape the Favela. For any CoD fans, hopefully that's enough of a teaser for you. For those who have no idea what the hell I'm talking about, youtube it. It's near the end, and won't follow the game script exactly, but will give you a rough idea of what might happen :D**

**Feel free to screech along with me in the comments, I love seeing what you guys think!**

**Special shout out to[Morgan_Jean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgan_Jean), [Owebee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owebee), [DonnaJ66](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DonnaJ66), [illyria13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyria13), [FlutieCutie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlutieCutie), [TinyNinjaWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyNinjaWolf), [Samsam572](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samsam572), [FancyHippopotamoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyHippopotamoose), [Quetzalcoatl_hime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quetzalcoatl_hime), [burn_me_down](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burn_me_down), [KazooKaren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren), [nhardoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhardoy), [ghostwriter_44](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwriter_44), [Raeschiev9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raeschiev9), [ShellyFanFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic), [Hayzkid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hayzkid), [Irish1969](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish1969), [Laura42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura42), [Floopdeedoopdee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floopdeedoopdee), [Eggerthella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggerthella), [purplerain88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplerain88), [blabliblablu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blabliblablu), [TheLaurinchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLaurinchen), [MiaMalfoy716](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaMalfoy716), [CamilleMadeAnAccount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount), [Jemmacatt14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemmacatt14), [Wurdsmadder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wurdsmadder), [NobodyKnowsWhoIAM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobodyKnowsWhoIAM), and [Bastet5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastet5) as well as the 48 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are awesome!**

* * *

**_0200 WET / 2200 EDT – Edge of the North Atlantic - C-17 hold_**

A shrill whistle tore through the cargo hold, startling those aboard from their sleep. 

“Landing in thirty mikes, lads. Briefing in five.” 

Brock groaned, stretching his arms above his head and yawning heavily. Despite the stress that was roiling within him, he’d managed to rack out as soon as he was horizontal. An ingrained habit he was grateful for, especially now. 

A wet nose dug into his cheek, and he hugged Cerberus to him, planting a kiss on the fuzzy forehead. Apparently, the pup had wriggled his way up from his feet, and when he glanced down he realised the Malagator was more or less sprawled on top of him. 

No wonder he was warm and felt like he was pinned in place. 

“That’s got to be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” 

Brock looked over and found Autumn smirking at him, holding her phone. Ugh. _Pictures_. 

“Ryder isn’t a fan of hammocks, despite Roy’s attempt to get him in one,” she explained, and Brock remembered Roy telling him the same thing. In fact it was meant to be something they worked on when they both had leave together to help the dog get over his fear. “I think he was planning on trying to change that, but I don’t know where he got to with it.” 

“Nowhere,” he told her, nudging Cerberus to get up but the dog only huffed and somehow sprawled heavier. He looked at his dog, unimpressed. Cerberus just panted back at him. 

“You’re hopeless,” he told the Malagator, ruffling his ears when Cerb thumped his tail happily. “I was meant to be the one who helped Roy with Ryder, but we haven’t gotten around to it yet.” 

“Ah,” Autumn replied. “Also, this photo of you will be put in the Season’s scrapbook, because it’s adorable.” 

“Oh god,” he sighed, shaking his head as the EOD walked off, cackling to herself. “Come on lazy bones,” he said to the lump of fur on top of him. “Dad’s gotta go be a human.” 

Cerberus let him up, but flopped back down into the hammock once he was clear. Chewing his lip, Brock eyed the Malagator thoughtfully – wondering if the reluctance to get up had anything to do with his antibiotics. Cerb didn’t appear to be sluggish or out of it, for all appearances he was just being lazy. Watching Cerberus drift off again, he decided the safest option would be to run him through a couple of drills after the final briefing to be sure. 

After giving Cerb a scratch behind the ears, Brock wandered over to where the rest of Delta were gathered back around the crate. 

Flynn joined them moments later. “Alright, I’ve got confirmation the Guardia patches will be ready for us when we land, so I want those on your vests as soon as you get them, just to be safe. The Guardia are known to frequent the airport, so we won’t look out of place. The moment we find the bombs we evacuate anyone on the first floor to the ground floor, and everyone out the doors. We’ll use the guise of a medical event on the first floor to get people out – there aren’t any closed off rooms, it’s all open plan so it’ll be a good way to convince people to move.” 

“What about a fire drill? Pull the alarm, get ‘em out that way?” Ramirez asked. 

“That’ll be our last resort. There aren’t enough of us to spread the word not to panic if we do that, so it’ll be a stampede if we start with it.” 

Ramirez nodded, but looked frustrated. Brock didn’t blame him; any other situation and pulling the alarm would help, but here it was guaranteed to make things worse. 

“How’s the top floor team getting in?” he asked. “Are they coming through the front door like the rest of us?” 

Flynn shook his head. “There’s a small carpark that’s used by suppliers for drop off so they don’t have to go through the terminal,” he said, tapping a section of the map. “We’ve managed to secure a surveillance van, so I’ll drop the ground floor team off and will then head up there to drop the rest. I’ll monitor from around the corner of the airport so the hostiles don’t get spooked.” 

“You hacking the cameras?” Stone asked. “That may not be reliable if these guys have put them on a loop.” 

Flynn shook his head and pulled a Go Pro from his pocket. “We don’t know how deep this cell has infiltrated, so we’re going in with our own feeds. These will be mounted to your helmets as NOD’s aren’t needed, and there’s a battery pack to secure to a pocket that will give us five hours continuous footage; there’s a lot of people interested in what’s going on here, so we need any intel we can get. The cameras will link to me in the van, and I’ll stream the footage back to Lindell, as well as the SAS. 

“The Heathrow attack is scheduled to occur four hours after Tenerife North is meant to blow – after talking to Lindell it’s believed they want all the attention on Tenerife so they can slip in and catch everyone unawares, so any footage of what you boys are facing will help the Brits narrow down their targets.” 

“Who’ve we got comms with?” Brock asked. As nice as it would be to have Lisa in his ear like usual, he didn’t want to listen to Jason bitch him out as soon as an opportunity presented itself. If he was lucky, he’d be jetting back in a separate plane just so he could hide from The Eyebrows of Disappointment™ for a little while longer. 

“Just me,” Flynn replied. “The internet connection isn’t what we’re used to, and we don’t want to overload the satellite. I’ll have open phone lines with Blackburn, MacTavish and Lindell, but you boys will be on my comm channel only.” 

Brock nodded. Crisis averted. 

He noticed Kit’s smirk and pinched his side discreetly. Just for that, he was leaving Kit to explain to Jason why he lied and said Jason knew Brock was going with them. Ha, the little shit could stew on that for a while – once he found out, that was. 

“I suggest you lads start getting your gear together, and at least have your vests on when we land. It’s a three hour flight from Madrid to the South airport, so you can get yourselves jocked up on the jet.” 

“Copy that,” Troy said. “Let’s go boys.” 

They broke away from the crate, and Brock headed for the small stack of gear he’d brought with him, immediately removing his uniform and setting it aside before going through his weapons – grabbing the guns and mags they needed as well as a few knives, flashbangs and grenades. He’d sort them further once on board, but for now it was best to downsize anything he didn’t need so it didn’t weigh him down later on. 

With four EODs on hand he stripped his own demolitions kit to the bare essentials and set the rest of it and his repelling gear to the side; everything now surplus to requirements. Once his gear was in a more reasonable pile, he grabbed what he wanted Cerb to have, which wasn’t a lot considering he was already in his harness, but he made sure he had his treats as the reward for any explosives he found. Normally he’d give him a toy, but they were going to be working for who knew how long, and helping keep the hair missile’s energy levels up were crucial to mission success. 

As he started changing, he couldn’t help but wonder about the situation they were walking into. The terrorists so far had proven themselves cunning tacticians, their plans changing multiple times and likely doing exactly what they wanted to ensure their success – dividing resources. It couldn’t be coincidence that no one had heard about their plans for Heathrow until everyone was spinning up, and it certainly wasn’t coincidence that the intel on the explosives locations was patchy at best. There were too many unknowns, and that was somewhat frustrating; it was hard to walk a straight line with a blindfold and earmuffs, yet that’s essentially what they’d be doing. 

FUBAR situations, as Flynn had said, were something he was intimately familiar with – so patchy information didn’t worry him all that much. No, what really worried him was his brothers. Not only Bravo, but Delta as well. 

Delta was well trained for this kind of mission – but it wasn’t a full Delta squad handling this. Would his attachment to the team be of benefit to them, or would his inexperience with their ways get them all killed? Would he be able to look Flynn in the eye – assuming he actually made it out of this – before grovelling for forgiveness for the loss of his men? 

No, was the simple answer. They all trusted him, had some misguided sense of faith that he could do what they needed of him. And he could, he didn’t doubt his abilities for a second, but he knew that where they might expect him to find a bomb and continue on to the next, his training, his _instincts_ said to handle what he could, and isolate the rest. 

Jason’s training had never let him down before, but he worried that it could be the edge of the knife that dictated where the pieces fell. 

Would he be responsible for the loss of countless innocent lives? Responsible for the loss of his Delta brothers? Of Kit? Of _Cerberus_? 

Bile rose in his throat, and he struggled to swallow it down. If he was, and he was injured in the process, he genuinely couldn’t decide if he wanted to wake up again. 

So not only was there Delta to worry about, but on the flipside of this unsolvable equation, was Bravo. 

Despite the three hour time difference, Bravo would only be there to handle the fallout. But what would they find? Would it be most, if not all, bombs diffused and Delta escorting the authorities in to deal with the bodies, while the civilians stood around in a flustered panic at nearly losing their lives, but grateful for Delta’s intervention that made sure they hadn’t? 

Unlikely. 

If anything, they’d arrive to utter mayhem - the airport a smouldering ruin and anyone who could’ve survived the initial blast crushed beneath the debris. How would his brothers react when – if – they found him? 

He could picture Jason’s rage-filled grief, could hear the yelling and swearing that would come because ‘the idiot should never’ve been here in the first place!’ 

He could see Ray’s eyes dark and hollow – a look he’d become familiar with whenever the 2IC lost someone he cared about. He could hear the prayers that fell from his lips as Ray bent over his broken form – took comfort in Ray’s trust in his God, even if he didn’t believe the same. 

He could hear the heartbreak in Sonny’s voice without even having to see his face – knew the Texan’s macho façade hid the vulnerability of his heart that had been so badly scarred from loss, he didn’t want to be responsible for another blow. He knew that’s exactly what would happen, though – wished fiercely that it wouldn’t, but hope was a fleeting fancy in this line of work. 

He could see Clay shut down. Physically he’d continue to do what needed to be done - instinct was a wonderful thing when stuck on autopilot - but emotionally… Bravo’s kid would be a wreck. Clay had lost so much in his young life, loss that Brock had never been able to erase, but had tried to ease with friendship. Their friendship was something he treasured dearly, loved the sniper for his quick wit and easy smile, not to mention his penchant for mischief which had solidified their bond from day one – to rip that away from him, with no chance to prepare was something he dreaded, but knew couldn’t be avoided. 

Trent. He shuddered, the pain ripping through him fiercely. He’d never had a brother quite like Trent before; someone who just _got_ him without having to say anything at all. If there was such a thing as soul brothers, then that’s what Trent was to him. Trent would be the most destroyed of all – for all his medical knowledge, there were just some things he couldn’t fix, and Brock knew he’d be one of those. 

God, would this be what drove Trent away from the Navy? The false knowledge of failing a brother weighing so heavily on his mind that he couldn’t look anyone in the eye? He hoped not. Trent needed his brothers to help keep his head above water, to process and handle his grief. He needed them just as much as they needed him – a fact Brock suspected the medic didn’t know as well as he should. 

Chewing his lip, he double checked the notebook he carried with him was there, as well as his pen; he had a letter to write on the flight to the airport, had things he needed to say before he suddenly couldn’t. 

A wet nose pressing into his hand made him look down into the dark chocolate eyes of his beloved boy; Cerberus whining quietly as he stared back. His distress must’ve been more palpable than he’d thought if his Malagator had come over to check on him. He crouched and pressed a kiss to his head, whispering a thank you in his ear. 

Straightening, he stripped down to his briefs, movements still somewhat slow as he tried to shake free of the dregs of his thoughts when there was a loud, obnoxious wolf whistle. His head shot up and he glared over to his right; sure enough, Kit was cackling as he pulled on his own pants. “Those are some mighty fine toned thighs there, Broccoli! How have you not be snapped up by a woman yet?” 

“Better than your goddamn drumsticks!” he retorted, fears fading to the background as he focused on his friend, and smirking when the people around them started snickering. “A strong gust of wind could snap those in half!” 

Kit made an offended noise as he stomped over, still securing his pants even as he tried to thump him on the arm. A well timed slap of his hand deflected Kit’s strike, and they entered their second jostling match of the mission. 

“What’s happening right now?” Brock heard Ramirez ask, so he did a neat little side step and hip checked Kit back towards his bags. 

“This is what happens when you’re fooled into making friends with a toddler, Ramirez,” he replied haughtily. “Don’t let yourself get sucked into situations like this, you’ll never get outta it.” 

“How very rude of you!” Kit exclaimed, waltzing back to his bags but grinning widely. “I distinctly recall you introducing yourself first, ergo – you initiated the friendship.” 

“That was after you slipped on the ladder trying to climb onto the bunk and stomped on my thigh. The polite thing to do to the person trying to stand on you is introduce yourself, rather than bitch them out for mimicking an elephant learning to walk.” 

“Strange, I don’t recall that happening,” Kit replied. “You must’ve hallucinated that.” 

Brock rolled his eyes, but didn’t miss the questioning look his friend gave him. He nodded, unable to help the appreciative smile that crept in. As usual, Kit had read him like an open book and successfully distracted him from his own mind. Damn, but he was grateful for his friend’s presence, even if he was an utter lunatic most of the time. 

Buttoning his pants, he adjusted the material so it sat properly and quickly loaded his gear into his duffel bag, depositing it with everyone else’s bags in the middle of the hold. Next, he went back to his discarded gear and dug through Cerb’s kit for the samples of explosives he carried for drills. 

Waving Kit over, he handed the samples to him. “I’m going to run through some quick drills with Cerb, make sure he’s all good. Can you go set these around the plane? Just make sure those two functioning brain cells of yours remember where you put them, yeah?” 

“New number, who dis?” Kit replied as he took the packets and walked off, Brock unable to stifle his laugh fast enough. Goddamn lunatic and his smart ass comebacks! 

Kairos and Autumn wandered over, and together they watched Kit set the samples. He’d turned Cerberus to face the ramp so he couldn’t watch Kit, because the Hair Missile was too smart for his own good and knew what those samples meant. 

“Running drills?” Kairos asked, and he nodded – smiling when the EOD lit up. “Man, I haven’t seen you run drills with him before, I always seem to be in the wrong place when you do it!” 

“Well this’ll be good for you then, in case you ever choose to branch out into the K-9 route.” 

“And steal your thunder?” Kairos laughed, “Na man – this is your domain. If I did I wouldn’t be assigned to Bravo again, and how else am I supposed hang out with Sonny?” 

Brock nodded. “True.” Turning to Kit, he raised a hand to his mouth and yelled so he’d be heard over the engines. “Oi, fungus! You done yet? While I’m still young would be appreciated!” 

“Bite me Broccoli!” Kit retorted, making his way over. “And yes, they’re planted.” 

“Did you plant them properly, or dump them all in one area?” 

“That was _one_ time!” Kit protested. “Morphine, dear Floret. _Morphine_ addled the brain, you can’t blame me!” 

“Kit got into Cerb’s bag when we went to visit him in the hospital a few years ago,” he explained to the other two, using one hand to fend Kit off when he hurried over and tried to cover his mouth. “I left Cerb with him while I went to the bathroom and came back to find Cerb’s bag on the floor, and Kit giggling like a lunatic while Cerb was lying on the bed in his positive ID position.” 

By now, Brock was aware of Delta suddenly nearby – all of them looking busy but actually doing nothing while they listened. Kit’s efforts to silence him increased tenfold, so he handed Cerb’s lead to Kairos and used both hands to hold his friend at bay. “I didn’t even ask why Cerb’s bag was on the floor, just asked what he’d done. The drugged git grabbed all the explosive samples and shoved them down his hospital gown before telling Cerb to seek, which he did, but Kit said he was identifying because Cerb had just confirmed he was ‘smokin’ hot, like dynamite’.” 

Everyone burst out laughing, just as Kit managed to get close enough to pull him into a chokehold. “I was in pain and on medication!” he whined, doing his best to smother Brock with a hand over his mouth, but failing miserably. “You can’t use that against me, and with my own team!” 

“You’re a walking disaster Wilson,” Troy snorted, leaning over and ruffling Kit’s hair. “What would we do without you?” 

“Sleep easier?” Tim replied dryly. “I know I would.” 

Kit pouted at him. “Admit it Doc, you’d miss me.” 

“Debatable.” 

“Rude much.” 

“As entertaining as it is to pick on Kit, we’ll be landing shortly,” Flynn interrupted. “I suggest you get those drills done before you run outta time.” 

Brock nodded and took the lead from Kairos, taking Cerberus to the ramp and turning him so he faced the belly of the plane. 

“Aus,” he instructed. Cerberus lay down, and he removed the lead; feeling somewhat self-conscious with all the eyes suddenly on him. “Ready buddy?” 

Cerberus looked up at him, his tongue rolling out of his mouth. 

“Suchen.” 

Cerberus raced off, and he hurried after him. 

Despite giving Kit grief, the man had hidden the samples well; hiding them behind objects that would throw off a newer dog because of the masked scent. In fact, Brock had the issues finding the actual samples once Cerberus indicated them, they were that well concealed. 

For every sample that was found, Cerberus was given a pat before being sent for the next one, and out of the corner of his eye Brock saw Delta talking quietly amongst themselves. Thankfully no one looked worried. 

Once all the samples had been found, he gave his boy a vigorous scratch behind the ears before tossing the ball that he’d grabbed on his way past his bags; Cerberus sprinting down the length of the plane in chase. 

“Damn that dog is fast,” Sam whistled as Cerberus grabbed the ball and came trotting back. “Not to mention quick at finding things.” 

Brock extended his hand, and the ball was deposited in his open palm. He threw it again, and Cerb took after it with a happy bark. “Why do you think his nickname is the Hair Missile?” he laughed, heading for his bags and storing the samples. “No one’s beat him in a running race, that’s for damn sure. Although Clay’s given it his best shot a time or two. Failed miserably though.” 

Sam snorted and shook his head, ambling away when an alarm sounded, indicating they were about to descend. 

“Here Cerb!” he called, and the Malagator trotted up to him, jumping on the seat beside him when he sat down. 

No matter what happened next, Cerb’s antibiotics wouldn’t affect him while he worked, if his excellent performance just then was any indication. Which meant that if he had too, he could get Cerb out of danger immediately without fear of him being too slow to move. 

* * *

**_0240 WET / 2240 EDT - Madrid-Barajas Airport_**

Brock shouldered his bag and strode down the ramp, trying and failing to suppress his shivers as a blast of cool air hit him. Having acclimatised to the warmer interior of the plane, the cool spring air was like an ice cold rag to the face. 

He didn’t bother to look around too hard, simply for the fact that it was currently pitch black; the airport having switched off the runway lights to hide their arrival. What he could see nearby was the illuminated passenger terminal, which meant they’d taxied a fair distance to avoid being seen. 

“They’re still expanding this section of the terminal building,” Flynn said as he walked past, and Brock realised he wasn’t the only one looking curious. “With most of the foundations in place it was logical to park us around the corner where we couldn’t be seen.” 

Brock nodded and stepped off the ramp – following the rest of the team towards the building Flynn was walking to. 

“It’s as cold as a witch’s tit,” Kit grumbled as he joined him, looking distinctly unimpressed. “This is bullshit.”

“Be grateful it’s Spring and not the dead of Winter,” he replied, refusing to admit he was just as cold. “It could’ve been snowing otherwise.” 

“Blergh, no thanks.” 

“‘Sides, if you really have an issue take it up with Springfield and Winters, they might work some seasonal hoodoo for you so it warms up some. Or you could go give Kairos a hug.” 

Kit gave him a look. “You’re hilarious.” 

“That I am,” he replied, attention moving to the approaching headlights. “Here we go.” 

Delta came to a halt as the car pulled up alongside them, and two officers climbed out. 

“Officer García?” Flynn said, looking between the pair. 

“Sí señor,” a middle aged woman replied, coming over to shake Flynn’s outstretched hand. “And my partner Officer Peŕez.” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Flynn replied. “My team and I are grateful for your assistance with arranging the Guardia patches.” 

Peŕez stepped up, a small stack of patches in his hand. Troy took them and handed them out, giving Brock two so he could attach one to Cerb’s harness. 

“Thanks for those,” Flynn said, taking one for himself. “Now, if you can point us to the jet or call it over, we’ll get underway.” 

García turned to her partner and said something in Spanish. The younger man headed back to the car before climbing in, and Delta tensed. “There’s… a minor problem,” she told them quietly. “Our usual pilot is away on holiday, and the substitute can’t be reached. The other options we had are currently working their way back to sobriety after today’s festival.” 

Brock shared a look with his brothers. What the hell? 

“What do you mean, you don’t have a pilot?” Flynn growled. “The request for a jet was made seven hours ago; that should’ve been plenty of time to bring someone in!” 

García shook her head. “I’m sorry Señor, but that’s not correct. While we knew you were coming, no one on your end told us until an hour ago a jet was also needed. But it should not matter, no? Your pilot can fly a jet?” 

“All due respect ma’am, they’re rated on a military aircraft; just because he can fly a plane doesn’t mean he can automatically fly them all.” Flynn ran a hand through his hair, tugging on the strands in agitation. “Shit.” 

“Is there at least a jet here?” Troy asked. “One outta two would be good start.” 

Brock’s heart dropped when García shook her head. Double shit. 

“Christ,” Flynn muttered, before turning to them. “Take a seat boys, I’ve got some phone calls to make.” 

* * *

**_0245 WET / 2245 EDT – SAS Headquarters, Credenhill – MacTavish's Office  
_ **

Soap hung his head, groaning lowly and praying the piece of paper in front of him was a figment of his imagination. 

British Intelligence had been less than intelligent and had left arranging a jet for Delta until the last minute, or so the paper said, and now they were ‘having issues locating the appropriate resources’. _Fuck_. He could just imagine Flynn’s face when he found out. 

From what he’d been told, British Intelligence and their Spanish contact were scrambling to solve the issue, but the longer they took, the smaller Delta’s window for a successful mission became, and they barely had enough of a window as it was. 

There was a knock on his door, and he looked up to see his P.A. holding a phone. “Sir, I have Lieutenant Commander Flynn on the line. He said it’s urgent.” 

He bet it was. “Put it through, Marie.” 

“Yes sir.” She ducked out again, and he set the paper down beside his tac vest before activating his wireless headset so he could finish getting ready. 

The line flashed at him on the phone, and he hit answer. “MacTavish.” 

_“So formal a greeting for a friend, John.”_

He shuddered. God he hated his first name being used, barely tolerated it from anyone that wasn’t his mother. “I deserve that,” he conceded. “Sorry.” 

_“Do you also deserve the bollocking I’m about to give? Because it’s shaping up to be a bloody fantastic one, and I don’t want to waste it on the wrong person.”_

Wincing, he secured his belt around his waist; double checking all the pouches were stocked before grabbing his vest. “Believe me Leaf, I only found out about B.I’s idiotic plan just now. If I’d known what the muppets had planned I woulda told them exactly what I thought of their idea. Of all the bloody times for it to backfire…” 

_“Oh I’ll be making sure heads roll for this, that’s for damn sure,”_ Flynn replied. _“They know we have a tight window and are understaffed as it is, yet decided to take a gamble on this anyway. Unless, of course, the sudden lack of resources is another part of the terrorists plan, and it’s not the shitty coincidence it appears to be.”_

Freezing, Soap went cold at the implication. It was one thing to be bad luck, but another entirely if the terrorists were covering all their bases; up to and including causing issues on the mainland. “You think no pilot being available was deliberate?” 

_“I can’t say for certain, and frankly we don’t have time to look into it. My boys and I are here; but we need to be_ not _here asap. The longer we wait, the more we cut into our timeframe. Tell me you can do something.”_

“I’m working on it,” he replied, securing the last strap on his vest. “I’ve called in the big guns to take over for me because I’ll be rolling out with the squads. Frankly, we need all hands on deck.” 

Flynn snorted. _“That’s putting it mildly. I can just imagine his face when you placed that call.”_

“Yeah, well, he’s probably grown bored of his retirement already so I doubt he’s too upset.” 

_“If you say – shit. Lindell’s calling. Find me a plane, Soap, or find me someone who can. I’ll call back shortly.”_

The line went dead, and Soap flicked the headset off, sighing heavily. On the one hand, he was grateful it wasn’t him in his friend’s shoes but at the same time he wished he and his teams were there to support their American brothers. They were alone when they should’ve been anything but. 

“Y’know, retirement is supposed to be cigars and whiskey on the rocks, not headsets and blueprints.” 

Smirking, he looked up to find his mentor leaning against the door frame, arms folded over his chest and staring at him pointedly. 

“Price,” he replied, waving the man in as he headed for his weapons locker and started kitting up. “Thanks for coming in at short notice.” 

“I was looking for an excuse not to mow my lawn, and your offer was the best,” Price replied as he strolled in. “And considering your explanation was the usual piss-poor ‘you’re needed old man,’ well. Let’s just say my curiosity was piqued.” 

Shutting the safe, Soap turned and smirked at his friend. “Well you are needed, old man.” 

“So I gathered. Any reason you’re jocking up as well?” 

Grabbing the file off his desk, Soap handed it over. There was a brief flicker of hesitation in giving such highly classified information to someone who was officially retired, but he trusted Price with his life so knew there was no need to worry. Besides, the man wasn’t wearing the ghastly yellow visitor pass, but a black one that he couldn’t recall seeing before. Did that mean he wasn’t a visitor to the base like he was supposed to be?

“Soap?” 

“Sorry.” He handed the file over, mentally shook himself from the confusion over something as trivial as a pass. “Planned terrorist attack on multiple airports is why you’re here.”

Price raised an eyebrow at him. “Airports, eh? Not your typical work day then.” 

Grabbing his bag, he snorted as he headed out the door. “Too right mate. I’m going to be boots on the ground, so I need you on overwatch.” 

“Of course. You need anything else?” 

He glanced at Price curiously. “You wouldn’t happen to know anyone with a jet in Madrid, would you?” 

* * *

**_0340 WET / 2340 EDT - Madrid-Barajas Airport_**

“Holy crap, this is fucking ridiculous.” 

Brock jolted from his light doze and looked over at an irritated Sam. “Huh?” 

“We’ve been waiting an _hour_ , and still nothing.” 

He was suddenly wide awake, and looked at his watch. Sure enough, it was an hour later than when he’d sat down. “Geez,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “Our window is what, two hours now?” 

Sam nodded, scrambling to his feet when Flynn stormed over, García trailing behind. The rest of Delta looked up, leaning away warily at the look of irritation on their Commander’s face. 

“I’ve had enough of this shit,” Flynn snarled. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I’m taking matters into my own hands. Get your gear, there’s two vehicles arriving for us in five.” 

Brock shared a look with Kit, saw the same confusion on his face that he too was feeling. 

“Señor please,” García sighed, her expression indicating this wasn’t the first time she’d tried to head him off. “You cannot do this, it’s illegal.” 

Flynn whirled on her, and Brock noticed he wasn’t the only one who tensed in preparation to hold the man back. “What are you going to do?” he sneered. “Arrest me? There are countless lives on the line - people _will_ die - but it will be up to my team and I to ensure it’s as few as possible that do. Are you really willing to sacrifice more innocents for the sake of rules?” 

They must’ve looked an intimidating sight – nine soldiers surrounding their Commander in silent support as García looked between them, her expression uncertain. 

“Sometimes the right decisions aren’t the easiest ones,” Kit told her gently. “Trust him to know what he’s doing.” 

Twin sets of headlights cut through the darkness, and they all glanced to them before turning back to García. Her shoulders sagged in defeat. “Very well. We will escort you to ensure you are not delayed further.” 

She turned away and headed for her patrol car, and the entire team exhaled quietly. 

“That was close,” Kit muttered, before turning to Flynn. “What is it you’re doing?” 

“Commandeering a jet.” 

“Uh,” Kit said, and he wasn’t the only one taken by surprise if the way the rest of them jolted was any indication. “Say what now?” 

“Ooh there’s a shit-storm brewing there,” Troy whistled. “No wonder she was nervous about it.” 

Flynn turned to them, his expression stony. “The closest pilot able to fly is still a ninety-minute flight out, and we don’t have time to wait. She’s a friend of someone at the SAS and is on her way; she’ll fly our support in as soon as they land. We’re heading for the Madrid-Cuatro Vientos Airport, the military and police airfield eight klicks outside the city. We’re taking one of the private jets parked there.”

“You’re hijacking a jet?” Ramirez asked, looking impressed. “That’s badass.”

“Commandeering, Ramirez – not hijacking,” Sam corrected, smacking him over the head. “We’re in the Navy, not the Air Force.”

“But it’s a plane, ergo we’re hijacking,” Ramirez protested.

“And whose gunna fly it?” Kit asked, cutting the pair off. He rolled his eyes when Flynn just looked at him. “You will. Of course you will. Lindell’s gunna love this.”

“Lindell and MacTavish don’t give a shit what we do,” Flynn replied, “and frankly neither do I. They’ll handle the local government after this is all done.” Two jeeps pulled up, and Flynn marched to the first one. “Get in you lot, we need to get moving.” 

Grabbing his bag, Brock took Cerb’s lead and walked him towards the second car – Kit and the four EOD’s trailing behind. 

“Kit, a word,” Flynn said when he realised who was going to the second car. Brock hung back, and narrowed his eyes when he saw his friend go still for a split second before nodding at whatever their CO had said, his expression serious. 

The conversation was brief, a few seconds at most before Kit was hurrying over. “Dibs the front seat!” he yelled, smirking when the EODs looked at him, exasperated. “I called it, so it’s mine!” 

Springfield rolled his eyes and left the passenger door open as he stomped to the back. 

“What was that about?” he asked his friend quietly, aware that it must’ve been something serious and doing his best not to draw attention to it. 

“He told me to take out the driver if I suspect he’s not legit,” Kit murmured from the side of his mouth, not even looking away from the car. “Flynn’s not taking chances this is a setup.” 

Swallowing thickly, Brock shot a glance at the driver; the man watching them curiously as his passengers loaded in. As they approached the vehicle, he passed his bag to Kit before looking down at Cerberus. “Cerberus,” he said quietly, keeping a blank expression when the Malagator looked at him immediately. “Suchen.” 

Cerberus tugged on his lead slightly, and Brock acted like they were heading around the car to go for the passenger door. 

“Hey! I called shotgun,” Kit whined from the back where he was depositing the bags with the rest of the gear, but watching Cerberus intently. “Get outta my seat!” 

“Seriously? You’re a child,” he retorted, heading towards the back seat he was apparently sharing with Kairos. “It’s clean,” he muttered as Kit shuffled past him, and he was glad to see his friend’s shoulders drop slightly, even if the cover was off his side arm. Cerberus hadn’t detected anything, so if anything was going to happen it wouldn’t be because the car blew. “Shuffle over Kairos,” he added at normal volume as he got to the door. “Cerb and I need to fit too.” 

“You could just sit in the back with the bags,” Kit replied from the front seat, turning and grinning back at them. “Ready for a school trip kiddies?” 

“Oh my god, why are you so weird?” he sighed as he shut the door. Then, because he was just as weird he added, “lead on Macduff!” 

Kit grinned even wider. “Onwards good sir,” he said to the driver. “Let’s get this noble stallion moving.” 

“Sí señor,” the driver replied, sounding somewhat confused as he put the car into gear. "You are here for party?” 

“What makes you say that?” Winters asked from the middle seat. 

“Señor talk’s weird,” the driver replied. “And you are all dressed as Guardia, but not Guardia. Eh...” he mimed drinking from a bottle. “A dress up party? You have lots of tequila already, ¿si?” 

Autumn snorted loudly, and even Brock couldn’t help but laugh. If only.

“A party,” Autumn replied, looking at the rest of them. “Yeah, it’s something like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Justin Melnick was doing some Instagram Live feeds during lockdown, and I asked a question about what commands he uses with Dita, which he answered (yay!). He uses a mix of English, German and Dutch words so that Dita doesn’t get confused/told to do something she shouldn’t in English when they’re visiting school kids. Based on the commands given in the show (1x07 you can hear him say suchen a couple times at 15:39 and again in 3x20 23:02, and 2x14 15:12 he yells Aus) I’ll be using those and other words that are easy to say in their respective language.
> 
> Aus (german) - Off 
> 
> Suchen (german) - Seek
> 
> Sitzen (german) – sit
> 
> Stehlen (german - pronounced Sh-tel-en) – steal (this is the command used when Dita is going for people in the bite vest. There’s a video on Justin's IG from January where you can hear him clearly use this. I guess it doesn’t necessarily have to mean what its English translation is… I can’t see Dita complaining it makes no sense!
> 
> Sí señor – yes sir
> 
> That’s right, Soap and Price get proper cameos – woot!
> 
> Soap’s nickname for Flynn is Leaf: a combination of Leroy Flynn as Leroy is too vowel-y for friends, and Flynn too formal. Probably was his codename when he operated!
> 
> Fun fact: just because pilots can fly a helicopter or airplane, doesn’t automatically mean they can fly any helicopter or airplane. Each is different in its handling and control so a pilot has to be rated to fly that specific style of craft before they can legally do so. i.e. a pilot who flies a small C206 plane (4-5 seats) couldn’t suddenly fly a 777 jet. Same goes with helicopters. In this story, because the pilots fly military aircraft, they haven’t flown private jets before, whereas Flynn has flown planes with similar controls – but we’ll look at that soon!


	6. The Break of Dawn Brings You Closer

**A/N: Guys. Guys I did a thing, and I had an absolute field day with it, and you only have to wait one more chapter. Yay? It feels like a yay moment… for me anyway! That’s literally all I can say right now for it, but I’m so excited to share it with you all! Hopefully all this buildup has been worth it!  
**

**I apologise for the day delay - I realised there was an important medical person we've all come to love from my previous two stories that ought to be here, so I needed to add him in in preparation of what's to come, because he's going to be needed!  
**

**In other news, I had a minor car accident on the 27 th June; the idiot that was meant to give way to me on the roundabout didn’t – he didn’t even look before entering so ploughed straight into me (specifically, into my passenger door). Aside from whiplash, a bruise and a written off car, I’m all good! And I can now tick off the Covid trifecta – house, job and now car. Woot! (not really woot, but there's no point crying about it, so just have to laugh instead!)** **But that saying about things happening in slow motion? I can totally agree with that as I happened to glance over and realized he hadn’t stopped – and I literally saw it all happen in. slow. motion. Which, for something like that, is not as fun as it sounds.**

**Do you hear that? That shrill train whistle in the distance? Yeah this is the last stop before Shithitsthefan-ville folks – fair and final warning :D**

**[Rantsandobliviousness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rantsandobliviousness), [Norwegian_Youth_SOF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Norwegian_Youth_SOF), [Morgan_Jean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgan_Jean), [Owebee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owebee), [DonnaJ66](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DonnaJ66), [illyria13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyria13), [FlutieCutie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlutieCutie), [TinyNinjaWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyNinjaWolf), [Samsam572](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samsam572), [FancyHippopotamoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyHippopotamoose), [Quetzalcoatl_hime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quetzalcoatl_hime), [burn_me_down](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burn_me_down), [KazooKaren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren), [nhardoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhardoy), [ghostwriter_44](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwriter_44), [Raeschiev9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raeschiev9), [ShellyFanFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic), [Hayzkid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hayzkid), [Irish1969](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish1969), [Laura42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura42), [Floopdeedoopdee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floopdeedoopdee), [Eggerthella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggerthella), [purplerain88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplerain88), [blabliblablu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blabliblablu), [TheLaurinchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLaurinchen), [MiaMalfoy716](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaMalfoy716), [CamilleMadeAnAccount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount), [Jemmacatt14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemmacatt14), [Wurdsmadder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wurdsmadder), [NobodyKnowsWhoIAM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobodyKnowsWhoIAM), and [Bastet5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastet5) as well as the 53 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are awesome!  
**

* * *

**_0405 WET / 0005 EDT –_** ** _Madrid E-5 highway – Jeep #2_**

The ride across the city was one of the strangest Brock had experienced for some time. While the atmosphere in the jeep seemed light, he was aware of the undercurrent of tension – but it was hard to tell if it was just his imagination or if the EODs had picked up on his and Kit’s wariness of the driver. 

The man in question seemed completely oblivious, if still somewhat confused, which meant he was either a really good actor or was as innocent as he appeared. He kept mostly quiet, occasionally pointing out some monument or building of interest as they passed in broken English, and they all looked at them as shown; each spot well-lit for so early in the morning, but considering how busy the city center was Brock wasn’t overly surprised. 

Unfortunately, being so busy it also meant there was traffic. 

“Seriously?” Kit groused from the front seat as he looked at the line of cars they passed. “It’s not even five, what the hell?” 

“Madrid _always_ busy, señor,” the driver tutted. “Always busy.” Evidently, he’d had complaints or comments before.

“Guess there’s traffic no matter where you go,” Springfield added. “How long to get to Cuatro Vientos airport, señor?”

The driver made a thoughtful noise before tapping his GPS. “Eh... one, five. How you say...” 

“Fifteen?” Kit supplied, grimacing slightly. 

The driver nodded vigorously. “Sí señor.”

“Oh my god.” 

“So that’s what, an hour and a half lost by the time we arrive?” Winters asked, looking at the others for confirmation. “Plus however long it takes to get the plane sorted. So much for our three-hour window.” 

Brock sighed, leaning his head back against the seat. This was just getting ridiculous. Maybe his constant presuming of his day not getting any worse had in fact jinxed him to a really bad turn of events. Lord, please let it not be so. He really didn’t want to explain this spate of bad luck to Jason on top of everything else. 

“Flynn’s got to be spewing about now,” Kit sighed. “Thank Christ I’m not in that car with him.” 

“That big fee,” the driver said, waggling his finger at Kit and Brock knew he wasn’t the only one confused. “You spew in taxi, you pay cleaning fee.” 

They all snorted. “We’ll let him know,” Kit told the driver. “Promise.” 

* * *

**_0420 WET / 0020 EDT –_ ** **_Madrid-Cuatro_ ** **_V_ _i_** ** _entos Airport - Private Jet Parking Area_ ****  
**

They rolled up to the gates, García’s patrol car leading the way through the police barrier and towards the airfield. 

Eventually she stopped, as did the jeep carrying the first half of their team and so their driver pulled in behind; the driver waving to them as they climbed out and grabbed their bags. 

They headed towards the rest of their team, and Troy broke off to meet them. “None of the police planes are big enough for a ten man team, so García is showing Flynn to the private jets that are stored here because it’s supposedly safer. Someone’s going to be in for a nasty surprise tomorrow, that’s for damn sure.” 

“Well if we pull this off they can take pride in the fact they helped stop a terrorist attack,” Kairos muttered. Brock grinned, and with Cerberus padding dutifully beside him followed the team towards the row of jets he could see nearby. 

Near what must’ve been the jet accesspoint, they could see four people gathered – and based on the raised voices there was a commotion of some kind, so they all sped up to intervene if needed. As they got closer, Brock cold see Flynn, García and Peŕez standing opposite the kid who must’ve been the night warden. 

“We don’t have time for this,” Kit sang under his breath when the kid stomped his foot in response to something Peŕez said to him. “Do you think Flynn’ll be pissed if I knock the kid out?” 

“If you don’t, I will,” Troy replied, cracking his knuckles. No way in hell was one person going to stand in their way of hijacking a jet. Not today.

Luckily for the kid, no assaulting of civilians was required. The boy snapped something in Spanish before storming to his office, where he returned moments later to throw a set of keys on the ground, still not finished with his tirade even as he stormed off again. 

“Kid’s got balls,” Brock overheard Flynn tell García. “If I’m not mistaken, I do believe my mother was insulted in there somewhere.” 

“Amongst others,” Peŕez laughed. García looked rather mortified. “Kid needs a promotion, sí?” 

“And the most expensive bottle of Tequila in the country.” Flynn scooped the keys off the ground before ambling towards the line of jets, eventually angling for one halfway down the lot. 

The key opened the padlock that held the chain around the tire together, and once it was safely secured around a nearby post Flynn turned the handle that opened the door. “Load up boys, I’m going to start the pre-flight checks.” 

Loading single file, Brock let Cerb up the stairs ahead of him and spotted two seats near the back with a table, heading for them immediately. 

“Man this is _faaaancy,_ ” Ramirez whistled, impressed. “Hey boss, you think we can convince Lindell to get us one-a these permanently?” 

“Goddamn privileged kids,” Troy replied, shaking his head. “Y’know, back in my day -” 

Brock snorted as Delta started heckling their MC. Jason had yet to start the ‘back in my day’ spiels, but he suspected that was down to the fact he knew Sonny and Clay would eat him alive if he tried. It was likely only a matter of time before someone started it for him, though; and he’d take great delight in Jason’s suffering when they did.

Setting his bag on the table, he pulled out his pad and pen and quickly scribbled down his note while he had some privacy, reading over it a couple of times before securing it in his chest pocket. It was Bravo’s unofficial ‘official important-thing spot’, as so dubbed by Sonny some time ago. If anything happened, he knew it’d almost certainly make its way to Jason. Unless – 

Nope. He shook his head, refusing to go down that path. He needed his head in the game, not stuck on what-if’s. He’d done that enough today already. 

Pulling out his phone next, he made a noise of disgust when the screen flashed a ‘no battery’ sign in its final ‘fuck you’ before going dark again. He shoved it back in his bag irritably. Useless piece of crap. 

Kit dropped into the seat in the opposite row and set his bag on his own table. “I wonder if I can get one of these planes as my retirement gift,” he mused aloud. “It’d be a worthy trade for my service; whaddya think?” 

“Maybe a replica,” he replied. “That’s a slightly better equivalent of your service.” 

“Well fuck you very much.” 

Brock grinned and dug through his bag for his knife and whet stone. He’d start on his guns once they were in the air and parts weren’t bound to go flying off the table as they lifted. “Not rude if it’s true, Kitster,” he replied, flashing his friend a grin as he started testing the sharpness to see how much work he had to do. “What is it you do on Delta again, exactly? Class clown, or somethin’?” 

“Man I think your florets got over-steamed on the plane,” Kit retorted, grabbing his own knife. “I am an _integral_ part of this team, you mutated green tree. I’m only the class clown when Troy tells me specifically not to be one.”

“Naw, I’m so proud of you,” he replied, watching as Flynn appeared at the top of the stairs and turned to the cockpit before turning back to his friend. “There were so many big words in that sentence for my little Kitster. It’s like you’re all grown up!” 

“You guys are hilarious,” Winters interjected. Brock realised the EODs had taken four seats nearby and were grinning at them. “How does work get done when you two are together?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Brock saw Kit shrug at the same time as he did. “No idea,” they said in unison, before cracking up. Yeah, they had one of _those_ friendships.

“Our CO asked the same question a few times when we were assigned to the same ship straight outta training,” he told them. “We did our best to be serious when others were around, but he caught us goofing off when it was the two of us on watch one night. We were working and got all of our tasks done, but were bickering the whole time.” 

“He was impressed with our multi-tasking, that’s for sure,” Kit added. “Took him a while to admit that to our faces, though.” 

“I bet it did,” Kairos said. “I don’t think I’ve heard this kinda talk from Brock with any of Bravo, though. I’m still trying to get my head around the fact you’re the same person.” 

Brock ducked his head, knowing exactly what Kairos was referring too, but not sure how to explain. 

Simply put, he’d never been overly talkative with Bravo as a whole because he didn’t really need to be. Sonny was the loud mouthed one, constantly talking and drawing attention to himself. Jason was much the same to some degree, as was Clay, and Brock was content to let them be the face of the group. 

It wasn’t to say he didn’t talk; he and Trent could yammer away for hours on end about anything and everything without tiring. Same with Clay when they were together. It’s just… he never really felt the need to talk all that much otherwise, unless the opportunity presented itself. He’d never felt judged by Bravo for not being overly talkative when they were together as a group – not by most of them, anyway – but he was content to laugh and jibe from Bravo’s sidelines. 

With Kit it was different. There was an easy camaraderie between them; something that came about because of the many years they’d known each other, and he’d never really thought twice about what came out of his mouth whenever they were talking. It was just… natural, in a way it wasn’t with the more outgoing members of Bravo around.

Explaining that was really hard, though. 

“I’m pretty certain it’s cause Broccoli has never had to fend for himself with Bravo,” Kit was telling the others, and Brock was once again grateful for his friend’s natural ability to cover things he struggled to put into words. “I can’t see Trent or the great Jason Hayes calling him nicknames and giving him grief every second of the day. He learned pretty quickly it was either sink or swim with me. As you can see, I trained him well!” 

And then the git leaned over and patted him on the head. Brock just looked at him. 

“Evidently,” Kairos snickered. “Man, I hope you’re like this with me next time I’m with Bravo; Sonny’ll think I’ve bewitched you or something into talking so much.” 

Brock lit up at that. “Oh my god, he totally would!” he exclaimed, standing so he could lean over and bump fists with the EOD. “I never thought of that! Man he’d be _horrified_ if he realized just how much I can talk!” 

There was a crackle over their heads, and they all looked up, Flynn’s voice coming over a few seconds later. “ _This the intercom_ _?_ ” 

“Sir yes sir!” Delta sang. Brock grinned as the team burst out laughing. 

“ _Assholes_ ,” Flynn retorted. “ _I’m just going through the manual to make sure I know where everything is, so once that’s all done I’ll get us refueled and underway. Troy, a word.”_

“Ooh you in trooouble,” Tim goaded, cackling as Troy smacked him over the head on his way past. “Ask him if there’s in-flight entertainment or snacks aboard, would you?” 

“I’ll strap you to the fuselage, Doc. Don’t think I won’t.” Turning to the rest of his team, he looked at them pointedly. “Reynolds and Wilson have the right idea to start prepping, so hows about you lot shut the fuck up and check your weapons, yeah?” 

* * *

**_0515 WET / 0115 EDT –_** ** _Madrid-Cuatro_** **_Vientos Airport - Hijacked Jet_**

Forty long, oh so long minutes later, the engines powered up and stayed on. 

Brock lifted his head from where he was working on his second knife as the plane started to move, and he glanced out the window; only to roll his eyes at himself when he realised it was still dark. 

Troy came back from the cockpit, looking at his watch. “We’re just about ready to depart, lads,” he said. “Just heading over to the fuel farm for a quick top up, and we’ll be underway shortly. It’ll be… nearly three hours behind schedule by the time we taxi.” 

“How far behind are support?” Sam asked. 

“They’re still about two hours behind us,” Troy replied, slumping in his seat. “Their pilot got lucky with a tailwind out at sea, and the delay has cut the gap between us down, but not by much.” 

Brock chewed his lip. “Is it worth waiting for them then? We’re already behind schedule, will a longer delay make a difference at this point?” 

“I wondered the same thing,” Troy replied, turning to look at them all. “But the higher ups think it’s still too big a gap to risk taking the chance; especially as the SAS presence at Heathrow could force the terrorists to act early. They want us boots on the ground and handling it immediately.” 

The plane stopped again, and Delta watched as Flynn left the cockpit and hurried down the stairs once they’d lowered. 

“He gunna be alright to fly this?” Ramirez asked. “He said our pilots weren’t rated for planes like these, but I doubt he is either.” 

“His cousin works for a private jet company,” Troy told them, “so Flynn does a bit of casual work for him during his leave in aircraft similar to this. He called his cousin to find out if he was familiar with this style of jet, and he confirmed it’s got similar controls to another type Flynn’s flown plenty of times, so he’ll be fine.” 

“Glad to know we won’t crash and burn,” Sam said cheerily. “At least not in a plane. Tenerife is still a tossup.” 

Footsteps on the stairs made them all look over, and it wasn’t Flynn but García and Peŕez. 

“Officers,” Troy said, surprised. “Everything alright?” 

García nodded. “We wanted to wish you luck, Señor,” she said. “What you’re doing is for people who are not your own, but ours, and we thank you for the risk you are about to take. The risk your families are about to take.” 

“Know that you will have our support no matter what happens,” Peŕez added. “Media are vultures and will look to place blame; we are in your corner, no matter what.” 

Troy stood and shook both their hands. “Gracias,” he replied. “Here’s hoping the next time we’re in the area, it’ll be as tourists.” 

“Then you have a personal tour guide in both of us,” García replied. “Good luck.” 

They left the plane, and everyone aboard looked at one another. Suddenly, what they were about to do became real; the consequences of failing too vivid. 

Flynn appeared, and he looked grim. The pair must’ve said the same to him. “Alright boys, let’s get outta here.” 

* * *

**_0715 WET / 0315 EDT – Madrid-Barajas Airport_** ** _\- C-17 hold_**

“Alright gents,” Eric said, looking at the two teams waiting in the hold, ready to disembark the moment the Herc stopped moving. “There’s only enough room on the jet for you lot, so we’ll be running comms from here. Stay frosty; if anything seems remotely off I want to know about it, understood?” 

There were nearly a dozen head bobs and a few murmurs of agreement before the SEALs turned to collect their bags. 

“Jase, Scott – a word.” 

Both men wandered over, and he pulled them to the side. “I just received word from Lindell – Delta will be touching down in Tenerife in an hour, so our gap between teams has closed by three hours.” 

“The pilot managed to shave thirty minutes off our flight with that tailwind, so that means we’re... what? Two hours behind them?” Jason asked after sharing a look with Metal. “That’s a hell of a lot better than the six that it was. What happened?” 

“Apparently there was a festival of some kind and all the local pilots were drunk. Lindell and the SAS were looking into alternative options, but couldn’t find one.” 

“Doesn’t that mean we’ll have the same issue?” Scott grunted. “Seeing as we’re not landing at Tenerife directly.” 

“The SAS flew a pilot in for us, she landed twenty minutes ago so is ready to leave as soon as you’re on board.” 

“So what did Delta do then?” 

He smirked wryly. “Flynn acquisitioned a jet.” 

Jason barked a laugh and shook his head. “Course he did. Bet Lindell was thrilled.” 

“Lindell fully supports it,” he replied, sighing at Jason’s disbelieving snort. “Despite what you think of the man, Lindell isn’t afraid to bend the rules to get the job done; ‘quite frankly, a disgruntled plane owner is the least of anyone’s concerns’ – his words, not mine.” 

“Our fearless leader,” Scott mused, his lips quirking slightly. “Not afraid to step on a few toes for mission success.” 

“And not afraid to take two of my men without asking,” Jason muttered irritably. 

“I think the saying ‘build a bridge and get over it’ applies in this instance, don’t you Jase?” he said, looking at the MC pointedly. “Because it does, so I suggest you do.” 

“Yep,” Jason ground out, turning and stomping over to his bags, a bemused Alpha 1 right behind him. 

Rolling his eyes, Eric looked to the roof – searching for patience and finding none. Jason’s attitude towards Lindell was all thanks to their CO’s ambitions to have the best teams in the military; and while Jason was one of the best SEALs the Navy had, it wouldn’t always be the case.

Despite Lindell’s efforts to show him there were other areas his expertise could be used, Hayes was as stubborn as a bull when it came to new ideas that weren’t his own. The man had to be introduced to them slowly, shown the merits before he’d even entertain something different. This, coupled in with the fact Lindell was pushing Clay for a more political role in the military – which even he wasn’t too thrilled about – and had reassigned Lopez to a different team had just caused strike after strike of distrust with Jason.

Distrust that would unfortunately be very hard for Lindell to come back from, despite his best intentions for his men. The way he saw it, where Jason needed to learn to be more open minded, Lindell needed to learn how to be patient. They were two opposing forces that he was unfortunately stuck in the middle of. 

The plane finally stopped moving, and an alarm blared in warning before the ramp started to lower.

“Good luck boys,” he told them all, nodding when they looked at him. “Remember, your job is to mop up the remnants of whatever Delta leaves. The civilians are _not_ your first priority, unless their safety is no longer certain. Get in there, make sure that building is secure, and bring our boys home.” 

* * *

Danny repacked the last of his kit into his bag before clipping the top shut. When Blackburn had called him to tell him he was needed, and exactly what he could be facing, he’d packed every bit of medical equipment he had and then some – even pilfering some of Doc’s stores before heading to the plane.

From the scant briefing he’d been given, it had sounded like Delta was walking into a shit show, so he’d wanted to make sure he was prepared to triage mass casualties if required. The detailed briefing they’d been given on the plane proved that his over packing had been for the best; an airport attack undoubtedly going to need everything he had and every bit of his skill.

There were copious amounts of bandages, saline and IV lines, sutures, staple guns and iodine – anything and everything that could and would be needed to give patients the best chances of survival. He now had two fully stocked packs, and yet he couldn’t help but wonder if it was enough.

Oh well. Between him, Trent, Alex and Tim there realistically should be enough supplies. Plus, there were two hospitals on the island, so if they were desperate for anything he was certain he could get supplies flown in from either of those. Pushing to his feet, he nodded at Trent and Alex when they joined him. “You lads all packed?”

“Not as much as you,” Alex laughed. “You need a luggage trolley? A moving crew, maybe?”

“Bite me,” he replied. “Better to be safe than sorry.”

“I’ll take too many supplies over not enough,” Trent sighed. “Knowing what could happen makes me wish we could carry a mini hospital with us.”

“We’ll I’ve got the equivalent of one, so we should be okay.” As Bravo’s official Field Medic, his position put him one above Trent when it came to any medical issues. Not that he’d ever use his position to boss Trent around; he and Bravo 4 got on incredibly well and worked together effortlessly, so he was more than happy to follow Trent’s lead whenever the situation called for it – which was more often than not - but it was times like this where he had the higher authority. “Doc’s gunna have a conniption when he realises just how much I stole, and if we have to get more in from the hospitals, we will.”

Trent grinned, and Danny noted how the man’s shoulders dropped. Evidently, he’d been worrying about their access to supplies for some time.

Shouldering his main bag, he looked at Trent speculatively. “Is it just me, or are Brock and Clay usually the ones in trouble whenever I’m about?” The thought had occurred back at VaBeach when he’d first started kitting up, and since then he hadn’t been able to shake it. Double checking his supplies as he’d packed his bags had only solidified those thoughts further. “I feel like it’s always them. The most I’ve done for the rest of you was check the stitches you put in.”

Trent face palmed and Alex started laughing. “I can’t even refute that,” the medic groaned. “I wish I could blame you for it, but those two are bound to get in trouble regardless of whose about – you just seem to be here when it’s the serious injuries they get. I swear though, if you’ve just jinxed them I will _not_ be amused.”

“I do not _always_ get in trouble,” Clay retorted, evidently having overheard them talking. The blond then proceeded to trip on a bag, and went stumbling further into the hold with a curse.

Trent’s head fell back. “Goddamn it, Danny. Shut up Lang, you’re not helping.”

Alex laughed harder.

“Well I guess I’d be out of a job if it wasn’t for them,” he snorted, shaking his head in exasperation when Clay managed to grab a hold of the railing, yelling an “I’m okay” at them over his shoulder. The blond wasn’t grimacing, so had obviously escaped unscathed. Turning to Bravo 4 he added, “Considering you can cover everything else, maybe I should see if the Navy would assign me as their official medic.”

“You’re welcome to them,” Trent replied, his attention having moved to Sonny and Jason for a moment before turning back to him. “Christ knows they’re going to make me go grey before my time.”

He blanched. “On second thought, maybe not. I don’t need to be completely grey before I hit thirty-five.”

Smirking, Trent clapped him on the back. “That’s what I thought.”

* * *

Shouldering his bag, Jason couldn’t help but grumble irritably under his breath. 

He knew Eric was right about Lindell, and he knew Lindell hadn’t done anything wrong. It just rankled him that the man was making changes to his squad without even being considerate enough to consult him about it. First, he sent Sonny away during the first half of their deployment, which yeah – it was the lesser of two punishments the hothead could’ve had and he’d brought it on himself – but it’d thrown the whole team outta whack.

Second, he’d decided to hassle Clay into State 21; which now that he looked at it, after talking to Clay he could actually see the kid going far with that career path. With the right training, and his stubborn demeanour, Spenser would make the changes their military sorely needed - whether he wanted to admit those changes were needed or not.

Then he’d taken Vic from the team when he’d barely started with them – and yeah, he and Clay were still on a rocky foundation, but that was Clay’s issue more than Vic’s – so it was unlikely Vic would choose to come back, even with Clay gone. And now Brock was rolling with Delta. 

Okay _yes_ , it was only temporary and _yes_ he was the best one for the job, but he… but… 

He sighed when he realised just how petulant he sounded. If he’d ever tried this argument on with Alana, she would’ve just laughed at him and called him a smother hen, which hell – he might actually be. Yikes. It explained where Clay got it from if it was true. 

Before he could fully process the somewhat alarming realization of his overbearing nature, Sonny was suddenly in his face - the Texan leaning on his crutches heavily as he looked around nervously. He frowned; now what? 

“You good?” he asked. Now was really not the time for any bombshell revelations – he wouldn’t be able to handle Sonny admitting he’d knocked a girl up or something on top of everything else. 

“You gotta get our boy back, boss,” Sonny replied, his voice quiet as though he didn’t want to be overheard by anyone else; which was kinda hard to do anyway with the whirring mechanics right beside them. 

“We will Sonny,” he replied, clapping him on the back. “He’ll be fine.” 

Sonny shook his head and moved so that he was blocking his path. “No, you don’t understand boss,” the Texan insisted. “You gotta get him back so I -” he choked on his words, grunted in frustration. “Just get ‘im back.” 

Looking at his brother, his eyes fell on the bruise darkening Sonny’s face, and it clicked into place just what was bothering the man. He gave Sonny’s shoulder a squeeze. “We will,” he replied quietly. “Brock’s got nine lives, remember? He’ll be back to annoying the shit outta you soon enough.” 

Sonny nodded, his eyes lightening in relief as he turned away. “Laters Bam Bam,” he hollered, and Jason rolled his eyes. “Don’t miss me too much.” 

“A mission without you yammering away in my ear is pure bliss,” Clay retorted, sticking his tongue out at the Texan and once again dancing out of the way of a waving crutch. “But maybe we should bring you along and broadcast your voice over the loudspeaker, it’d make their ears bleed and they might beg to surrender on the grounds of inhumane torture.” 

Sonny managed to jab Clay in the stomach as everyone else burst out laughing. “Just for that, I won’t be bringin’ you nuthin’ next time you’re injured, goldilocks.” 

“So I get a peaceful hospital admission? Christmas has come early.” 

“Alrighty children,” Ray sighed as the ramp fully lowered. “Break it up. Stay outta trouble Son,” he added, bumping fists with the Texan as he walked off the plane. “See you on the flip side.” 

The others mimicked Ray, bumping fists with Sonny before following him down the ramp to the jet they could see parked nearby. 

Dawn was just cresting the horizon, illuminating the lone figure walking across the tarmac to meet them. As he followed the rest of the team, Trent fell into step beside him. 

“What was that about?” the medic asked quietly, and Jason sighed internally. Trent was too observant for his own good sometimes; and he wasn’t going to like what he said next. 

“Sonny’s pain meds were messing with him this morning,” he replied. “Executed a jail break from medical and headed for the cages in a bad mood; then took his anger out on Brock when he saw him.” 

Trent cursed quietly. “That explains his black eye.” 

He nodded. “He feels guilty enough as it is about it, so you don’t need to say anything to him when we get back.” Christ knows Sonny wouldn’t take a lecture overly well right now, so he needed to head Trent off early if he could. 

“He’ll be getting one when this is all said and done,” Trent muttered. “Not about attacking Brock, although that will be addressed, but leaving the ward without permission. He was admitted for a reason.” 

Jason rolled his eyes, exasperated. Never mind then. 

They drew level with the rest of their team who were gathered around the pilot, the jet idling just behind her. 

“Welcome to Madrid, gentlemen,” the woman said, smiling toothily at them. The look in her eyes made Jason instantly wary; he knew that look. He saw it too often in Clay and Brock and _never_ wanted to see it in a pilot – yet that’s exactly what he was faced with. Oh god, what the hell were her credentials. Did she even know how to fly a plane?! Was she even _allowed_?! 

“My name is Ronnie Snow, and I’ll be your chauffeur this morning. Let’s get you to Tenerife, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aus (german) - Off  
> Suchen (german) - Seek  
> Sitzen (german) – sit  
> Stehlen (german - pronounced Sh-te-len) – steal 
> 
> For those who didn't know, wind can have a significant effect on a plane beyond turbulence. If you have wind blowing at a plane from the tail, it's known as a tailwind - which pushes the plane faster. Wind blowing at a plane from the nose is known as a headwind - and slows the plane down. If you're into your biking outdoors, you'll notice you have a similar thing if it's a windy day - biking into wind sucks, whereas biking with the wind is great. So same thing, just on a larger scale!


	7. Brock's No Good, Very Bad Day Vol. 2

**A/N: Toot toot. Welcome to Shithitsthefan-ville. Population; all of us crazy people, apparently. Come, gather round and read the town mantra:**

**“So. You’ve finally made it. All that patience, all that waiting, has finally paid off. Well done, and welcome. Disclaimer: There will be no return train for some time.”**

**BTW, that was written with Steve Rogers’ voice playing in my head – hopefully I wasn’t the only one. If so, I’ll be the weirdo in the corner of this train station – don’t mind me!**

**For anyone interested, the second Expendables Movie is what inspired some of this. You’ll see what I mean. As average as the Expendables script is (although it was actually better than the first movie), it’s still an awesome, brain deadening action film which I love watching. Simply put, it’s just good old fashioned fun – so worth giving it a shot if you haven’t seen it before. Or, you can watch this clip[here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9S_phHCfWcs) once you’ve read the chapter to see what I’m talking about.**

**The music that also inspired it was:[Takedown Favela](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0naKeVdo5V0), [The Hornet's Nest](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WS4QaUWQy20), and [The Only Easy Day Was Yesterday](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rC5D06b1HSs) \- all excellent tracks to write to :D**

**So… um… enjoy? I am weirdly nervous about this chapter – not because of what happens, but because I hope I haven’t disappointed anyone after all the buildup. Still plenty more to come, but. Yeah…**

**Special shout out to[Rantsandobliviousness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rantsandobliviousness), [Norwegian_Youth_SOF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Norwegian_Youth_SOF), [Morgan_Jean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgan_Jean), [Owebee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owebee), [DonnaJ66](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DonnaJ66), [illyria13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyria13), [FlutieCutie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlutieCutie), [TinyNinjaWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyNinjaWolf), [Samsam572](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samsam572), [FancyHippopotamoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyHippopotamoose), [Quetzalcoatl_hime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quetzalcoatl_hime), [burn_me_down](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burn_me_down), [KazooKaren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren), [nhardoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhardoy), [ghostwriter_44](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwriter_44), [Raeschiev9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raeschiev9), [ShellyFanFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic), [Hayzkid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hayzkid), [Irish1969](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish1969), [Laura42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura42), [Floopdeedoopdee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floopdeedoopdee), [Eggerthella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggerthella), [purplerain88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplerain88), [blabliblablu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blabliblablu), [TheLaurinchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLaurinchen), [MiaMalfoy716](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaMalfoy716), [CamilleMadeAnAccount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount), [Jemmacatt14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemmacatt14), [Wurdsmadder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wurdsmadder), [NobodyKnowsWhoIAM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobodyKnowsWhoIAM), and [Bastet5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastet5) as well as the 61 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are awesome!**

* * *

**0730 WET / 0330 EDT – Virginia Naval Base – Lindell’s Office**

An alarm pierced through the fog of sleep, the shrill beeping incessant in its alert. Sitting up, Greyson rubbed the grit from his eyes while bemoaning the fact that the three hours he’d managed to grab had seemingly passed in an instant. 

Gone were the days of racking out for minimal hours while serving on the front lines, yet he was certain he’d had just as many nights in his office than he had in the field – which was why he’d invested in a couch that could comfortably double as a bed when the situation called for it. 

Three swift knocks on the door was the only warning he got before, much to his surprise, his clerk stuck her head in the room. 

“Oh good, you’re awake,” she said when she laid eyes on him, entering the room with a tray and paper bag in hand. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to be the one to do it.” 

The smell of coffee drew him off the couch, and he took the cup when it was held out to him. “I thought I told you to go home, Sally.” 

“You did sir,” Sally replied, checking her phone when it beeped. “I got five hours sleep before my tossing and turning prompted my partner to kick me out of bed. Quite frankly, I couldn’t stay still any longer knowing what those teams are about to go into. It didn’t feel right, being at home when they’re out there.” 

He knew the feeling – it was why he’d called his wife to tell her he wasn’t going to be home that evening. Considering his last phone call had ended at 2300, and he’d then had an intel packet to review immediately after, the thought of going home hadn’t sat well with him at all. “Well, I appreciate you bringing me coffee – it’s one less thing to hunt down this morning. Price’s update is due shortly, I believe.” 

“It’s being complied for you as we speak,” Sally told him. “It should be -” 

There was a knock on the door, and one of the support staff stuck his head in; handing over the folder he carried. “Here it is.” 

With a soft chuckle, he acknowledged the corporal who’d brought the file with a nod and set his coffee down. When he’d taken over from Harrington, the one request his predecessor had had was that he kept Sally on as his PA. He’d never held much trust in assistants – preferred to do the work himself so he could keep an eye on everything. But Sally was damned good at her job, and had made his life ten times easier by taking care of the minor issues, or collating whatever he needed so he could deal with those issues swiftly so they didn’t become a bigger problem. 

She seemed to know what he wanted, before he did, which was quite the feat in itself.

“Anything pressing I should be aware of?” 

She shrugged. “Not particularly – the chatter that British Intelligence and the CIA are intercepting is still consistent with what was originally heard. Too consistent, if you ask me. Other than that, Delta will be landing in an hour and will be heading out to the airport shortly after that.” 

That caught his attention. “You think there’s something fishy with what we’re hearing?” While analysing the data wasn’t her job, he trusted her instincts because her thoughts, whilst not always entirely accurate were never far off the mark. For someone not trained in the data analyst role, he’d soon be pushing her to do so. He hated seeing talent wasted needlessly, and she was a damn natural. 

Her comment concerned him quite a bit as well, because he’d thought there was something off about the chatter, too. 

“Well how often do terrorists stick to the same information?” She peered over the top of the file, rifled through a couple of sheets and pulled one free. He glanced over it, felt his heart sink lower. He’d seen the same words, the same sentences, so often in the last eighteen hours they were practically seared into his brain. “Usually there’s some variation, an extra bit of intel closer to the attack, but this is more like a rehearsed propaganda spiel than actionable chatter. There’s no changes.” 

The page in his hand was nearly identical to all the other pages he’d had so far. Which was _not_ a good thing. 

With the right training, Sally could give Lisa a run for her money. “They don’t,” he said in reply to her question. “Damn. Have you told Davis?” 

“Spoke with her just before coming in here about testing our comms with them in thirty minutes, but yes, I mentioned it. She thought something was a bit weird about it as well, and was already looking into it when I called.” 

“Good.” He sighed heavily and took a deep drag from his coffee. The food would have to come with him to the ops room; to hell with the no food rule one of his predecessors had introduced. Besides, at this time of the morning he fully expected to be ordering food to keep the ops team refuelled for the foreseeable future – if Sally hadn’t organised something already. “Y’know, I had really hoped I’d be wrong this time around,” he told her as he grabbed a few more files from his desk before leaving his office. “Guess I should’ve known better.” 

“Sir?” 

“My gut instinct has never failed me before. Even when I ignored it, praying that I could change the outcome it was proven right every time.” Call it instinct, an invisible third eye – whatever. He’d learned to go with it, and had never been steered wrong once. “But this time I was really hoping that I could say it was wrong.” 

Sally paused, and they shared a look before pushing through to the Ops Room. “What’s it telling you now, sir?” 

“That shit’s going to hit the fan.” Frustration flared, and he huffed irritably. He hated being in the dark with these things. “I just wish I knew how.” 

* * *

**0830 WET / 0430 EDT – Tenerife South – Airport Tarmac**

The moment the plane stopped moving, Delta filed out; bags in hand and grim expressions on their faces. There were two jeeps waiting for them again, along with two uniformed officers. 

“Alright boys, let’s do this,” Flynn told them, marching forward to greet the officers. 

Without consciously thinking of it, Brock found himself with Kit and the EODs in the second vehicle again; Kit shot-gunning the front just to be an utter pain. 

That was fine. It meant he could eat his MREs without having to fend the man off as usual, which he started on the moment he’d buckled in. The last thing he needed was to have an energy crash the moment he entered the airport – he’d learned that lesson the hard way a few years back - and as it was a forty-five minute drive to the police station, he’d have plenty of time to eat his fill. 

Seconds after he opened his first MRE, there was the sound of multiple packets opening, and he grinned around his mouthful when he realised the others were following suit. 

The drive was a quiet one, the team focusing on their food and looking at the outside scenery. Cerberus had made quick work of the pile of biscuits he’d put on the seat for him, and was now doing his best to look out the window, which meant he had a face full of fur and Springfield a face full of thumping tail. 

“C-Cerb,” he spluttered, placing his hand between him and his dog’s side so he could try and talk properly. “Sitzen.” 

Cerberus sat down immediately, but leaned into him harder as he continued to stare out the window. He rolled his eyes. “You’re hopeless,” he sighed, sputtering when Cerberus turned and licked a stripe up his face. “Guh.” 

“Well at least one of us is no longer eating fur,” Springfield laughed, patting Cerberus on the back. “Thanks man.” 

Cerberus chuffed softly, and Brock shook his head. Just then, the officer’s radio went off, and the groan she let out caused the tension that had been simmering away quietly to flare up. 

“Everything alright?” Autumn asked. 

“No señorita,” the officer replied, her English clear despite the heavy accent. “Car accident three blocks ahead.” 

“Because why the hell not,” Kit groaned. “What does that mean for us?” 

“We can get around it Señor, but it’ll take longer to get to the station.” 

“How much longer?” 

The woman shrugged. “Fifteen minutes, maybe. Depends on how quickly traffic deviates.” 

“ _Delta 5, this is TOC._ ” 

Brock startled slightly at sound of Flynn in his ear. They all had their earpieces in, but had kept their helmets off for the drive over so as not to raise questions or suspicions from anyone they passed. 

“Delta 5 receiving, go ahead.” 

“ _You heard the APB about the accident?”_

“Roger, our driver said she can deviate to a different route, but it adds fifteen mikes to our ETA.” 

_“Affirmative. That’s what we’re doing, see you soon.”_

The lead car started turning, and they followed behind. Brock shook his head in exasperation; this day really – 

He paused, then frowned as he thought. Glancing at his watch which reflected the time zone they were in, he pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Hey, what’s the time difference between here and home?” As his phone was dead, it wasn’t like he could check for himself. That, and he couldn’t be bothered trying to remember what it had been when he’d switched his watch over. 

“Um, VaBeach is… four hours behind,” Springfield replied after consulting his phone. “How come?” 

“No reason,” he replied absently. It was 0845 now, which meant… 

Oh god. His day _had_ gotten worse; so much so that his bad luck had spilled into a _second_ day. Shit. 

He was a dead broccoli, wilted florets and all. Yup. His brothers were going to kill him if they ever found out he’d inadvertently brought two days of bad luck on himself. Fuck. 

“Fuck,” he muttered. It seemed like it needed to be said aloud as well. 

“What?” Springfield asked. “You leave the stove on at home or something?” 

Probably, knowing his luck. Although nothing had worked at his house yesterday morning, so if anything, the building had likely spontaneously combusted just to spite him further. 

“No, just… resigning myself to the fact Bravo’s going to murder me when they see me,” he sighed despondently. “It was nice knowing you all.” 

He missed the look the others shared, because Cerberus chose that moment to try smother him again. 

“Uh… why are Bravo going to try and kill you, little floret?” Autumn asked, cackling when Brock managed to free his face from Cerberus’s fur enough to glare at her. Oh hell no. That better not catch on. 

“Yes, little floret,” Kit added, grinning like the lunatic he was. Honestly, it was a scary sight to be faced with. “Why are Bravo going to butcher my little green tree? I demand seasoning – I mean reasoning.” 

The EODs snorted loudly, and Brock sighed. What was the saying? In for a penny, in for a pound of steamed broccoli, or something? 

So, he confessed; laid all his mishaps out on a silver platter for them to see all the bad luck that had followed him since he’d woken. 

“Why am _I_ labelled the walking disaster?” Kit whined when he finished talking. “Shit Broccoli, how many ladders did you walk under recently? Or was it opening umbrellas inside? Or did a mirror crack when you looked at it? It was the mirror, wasn’t it?” 

Brock flipped him the bird. 

“So, you think everything that’s happened today is your fault?” Winters asked, before blowing a raspberry. “Dude, I doubt it. I put my boots on the wrong feet _twice_ when I was getting ready today. Yesterday. Whatever day it was. _Then_ slipped as I was going down the stairs. Only reason I didn’t crash into the front door is cause my daughter opened it for me. I got to my car faster than usual, that’s for sure.” 

“Faster than usual? Bitch please; it happens like… once a week,” Autumn explained, shaking her head. “I dropped my toast butter side down on the carpet just after I got Lindell’s call, and hot coffee on my hand when I tried to save my breakfast.” 

“And I walked into a pole when I got to base because I wasn’t paying attention,” Springfield added, shrugging when the others looked at him. “Fact of the matter is, today’s mishaps aren’t on you buddy. But your luck is further evidence you’d fit right in with us.” 

“That’s not a convincing argument to join you,” he replied, unable to fight the smile that appeared. It was kind of them to try show him what had happened so far wasn’t his fault, but it was hard to believe otherwise. Still, he appreciated the effort. 

“Am I the only non-walking disaster this week?” Kairos asked, surprised. “You stealing my spot already, Reynolds?” 

“Dude you can have it,” he replied, shaking his head. “Better you than me.” That, and qualifying as a walking disaster likely wouldn’t be enough of an argument for Bravo to let him go. 

Not in the slightest. 

* * *

**0925 WET / 0525 EDT – Tenerife Police Station - Courtyard**

_“All Delta units, this is TOC. Time to jock up – we arrive at the station in five.”_

The car went silent as the team checked their cameras were secured to their helmet’s, wiping the lenses with a cloth to ensure the quality would be clear and that the cables to the battery packs were properly plugged in. 

Satisfied his Go Pro was as secure as it could be, he secured one to the top of Cerberus’ harness; the camera Troy’s suggestion as the Malagator would likely give the analysts some good footage to work with. Just as he strapped the battery in so it couldn’t move around, the car came to a stop, and the team started climbing out. 

“Good luck,” their driver said, and they all offered their thanks as they grabbed their gear and made their way to an unmarked white van. 

“Alright,” Flynn said, climbing in the back and booting up the computers. “First things first – we’ll check the cameras are live, then we’ll roll out.” 

“First things first, I gotta take a leak,” Sam groaned. “I knew I shoulda gone before I got off the jet.” 

Flynn rolled his eyes. “You were told too,” he grunted. “Okay, anyone that needs the head, go. The rest of you, let’s start testing.” 

Brock did a quick self-check and determined he was fine. He just wanted to get the day, and the mission, over and done with so he could go home. 

One by one, the Go Pro’s were switched on and tested, angled and re-tightened as needed. Knives were strapped in, handguns holstered and rifles slung over the shoulder – and before Brock knew it, they were ready to roll. 

“Alright lads,” Flynn said, his expression grim as he looked at them each in turn, before glancing at his watch. “0945; only three hours behind schedule. Let’s do this. Good luck out there.” 

Delta climbed into the van in order of airport entry, and Kit shut the doors – the last in. They began to move, and Brock shared a look with his brothers; the van silent save for the sound of the engine and their breathing. The drive wasn’t long, ten minutes at most, but it gave him time to reflect.

The thing was, it wasn’t his family that his mind wandered too, although he did pray his parents would forgive him for anything that might happen to him, and it wasn’t even to his brothers.

It was the SEAL creed. The motto that defined the very path he had chosen to follow – the path that had led him to the very situation before him.

_My Nation expects me to be physically harder and mentally stronger than my enemies. If knocked down, I will get back up, every time. I will draw on every remaining ounce of strength to protect my teammates and to accomplish our mission. I am never out of the fight._

_We demand discipline. We expect innovation. The lives of my teammates and the success of our mission depend on me – my technical skill, tactical proficiency, and attention to detail. My training is never complete._

_We train for war and fight to win. I stand ready to bring the full spectrum of combat power to bear in order to achieve my mission and the goals established by my country. The execution of my duties will be swift and violent when required yet guided by the very principles that I serve to defend._

_Brave men have fought and died building the proud tradition and feared reputation that I am bound to uphold. In the worst of conditions, the legacy of my teammates steadies my resolve and silently guides my every deed. I will not fail._

The van stopped, and without looking back, he and Cerberus climbed out; Sam, Kit and Tim directly behind them. 

“See you boys soon,” Troy muttered before he slammed the van doors shut, and they all took a step back as Flynn drove away. 

“Alright,” Sam said, taking charge as his roll dictated he do. “Reynolds and Wilson, break left when you enter, Doc and I will go right. We’re just part of the Guardia, doing usual patrols. Copy?” 

“Copy,” they replied, sharing one long final look before heading for the doors. 

As they made their way inside, his heart sank. The airport was packed. 

Hundreds of civilians wandered around, some glancing their way curiously and others ignoring them completely. He saw people standing by themselves, couples and friends, young families, tour groups – men and women in business suits, old, young – anyone and everyone seemed to be there. Every one of them now a potential victim if their team failed. 

“Shit,” Kit muttered. “This is gunna be harder than we thought.” 

He looked at his friend, nodded once. Drawing up the map in his mind, he spied one of the columns that Flynn had indicated and made his way towards it; ignoring the curious stares directed their way and glaring at anyone that reached out to pat Cerberus. 

The Malagator was a pussycat at home, and loved attention, but when working Brock had no issues using Cerberus to frighten anyone that ignored the warning look he gave, because a distraction could mean they wound up dead.

Like now, with the teenager who was walking towards them and eyeing at Cerberus with glee. 

“Cerberus,” he said quietly. The Hair Missile’s ear twitched his direction. “Praten.” 

Cerberus bared his teeth and growled, the teen freezing two feet from them before scurrying away with a look of disgust. Hopefully that would teach him not to approach a working dog – or any dog - without direct permission. “Ruhig.” 

As commanded, Cerberus stopped and they continued onwards. A quick glance showed Tim and Sam wandering around, looking for all the world like two bored policemen on patrol. 

Kit had wandered off to one of the other pillars that had been marked on their map, and Brock slowed as he approached his target. “Suchen.” 

Cerberus… did not act as he expected. Rather than indicate like he should’ve, he went to sit – only to stand again and walk away. Frowning, Brock followed as Cerberus sniffed the air – going to sit when he suddenly stood again. The hell? 

“Cerberus,” he said quietly, tugging the dog back to the pillar when he tried to head towards Kit. Perhaps there were too many scents for Cerberus to correctly identify without being close. “Suchen.” 

But it happened again. There was no positive ID, rather a partial one before he, for all intents and purposes, changed his mind. 

“ _What the hell is he doing?_ ” Kit asked quietly through the comm, even as he deviated towards them. “ _You seen him do that before?_ ” 

“ _Bravo 5, Delta 2; what’s going on over there?”_

Baffled by his behaviour, Brock tugged Cerberus away from the pillar they’d been at and continued towards the one near the escalator. Maybe he’d have more luck with a different one that was slightly more exposed. “Uncertain, 2,” he replied. “Standby.” 

“ _Ground team this is TOC. Roof team have just entered the building; I’m relocating to the edge of the carpark – what’s going on?”_

Brock clenched his teeth, before exhaling slowly. Admitting a problem wasn’t a bad thing, but it was uncomfortable all the same. That, and he wasn’t entirely convinced there was a problem in the first place; the strange behaviour reminding him of Afghanistan when Cerberus had noticed the narcotics in the wall of Kamal’s house. 

“TOC, Bravo 5; Cerberus is having issues ID-ing on one of the marked pillars. As he was previously imprinted on narcotics, it could be what’s throwing him off if some of the people around are carrying. We’re going to try another one with less people near it, over.” 

_“Copy Bravo 5; keep me posted.”_

_“You really think that’s what it is?”_ Kit asked over the radio, and Brock only got a glimpse of him near the pillar, there were so many people around. _"Uh... on second thought. TOC, Delta 5; we may have a problem.”_

Brock paused and turned to look at his friend; but through the throngs of people it wasn’t fear on his friend’s face he caught a glimpse of, but confusion. 

_“Delta 5, 1; what is it?”_

_“Has anyone else noticed that their pillars are lacking a certain feature? Explosives, maybe?”_

Confused, Brock reached his pillar and circled around it; his frown growing when he realised what Kit was referring too. There was literally nothing on it. 

The pillar was smooth, minus the usual wear and tear that came with age and large numbers of people bumping into it with luggage and trolleys – but that was the only damage he could see. Nothing to indicate it had recently been cut, nothing to remove to reveal a cavity hidden inside. 

It was just... smooth and untouched; noticeably unarmed. 

“What the hell?” he muttered, utterly confused by the lack of... well. Anything. “Cerberus, suchen.” 

Whatever was bothering Cerberus before, was still bothering him now; the Malagator moving as though to indicate, only stop and move around at the last second. Evidently, the pillar wasn’t rigged to blow – but Cerberus only indicated when there _were_ explosives, not when there _had been_ explosives. He needed something physical to react too – which he was, kind of. Only not, at the same time. 

“My pillar is clean too,” he reported, tugging Cerberus back to the first one. Circling it, he realised it was the exact same as the other. “The two I’ve been at are completely clean.” 

_“Same for us,”_ Sam added, sounding wary. _“The hell is going on? Delta 1; you have any luck up there?”_

_“TOC, Delta 1; confirmed that the pillars have no evidence of explosives, over.”_

Kit joined him, and they shared a look before looking up to the mezzanine level where they could see Troy and Reece walking around; the EODs wandering just behind them. 

_“All Delta units I’m going to get some answers, standby,”_ Flynn replied. 

Sam and Tim wandered over to them, and their arrival made Brock acutely aware of the unusual amount of attention they seemed to be gaining. Suddenly, it felt like all eyes were on them. He didn’t like the feeling _at all_. “Has anyone seen anything out of place?” He asked the three with him, nearly vibrating in agitation when they shook their heads. “Delta 1 and 6; you two see anything weird up there? People acting strangely?” 

_“Negative,”_ Ramirez replied, _"although you do have a woman approaching at your six o’clock. Holding a map, could be lost.”_

“Copy that, I’m on it,” Kit replied, already breaking away. 

_“I knew mall cop was more your gig.”_

“Bite me, Ramirez.” 

_“Ooh, touchy.”_

“Remember, you can’t ask for phone numbers when working Kitster,” he warned, only partially paying attention to his friend; his focus more on the large number of people around them. Was it just him, or did it look like they were edging closer? “I don’t understand,” he muttered to the other two, dropping his voice even lower. Something was definitely off with the whole situation. “Cerb’s scenting _something_ , so why -” 

There was a gunshot. 

His head whipped around, and time seemed to slow down. He had a split second to register Kit toppling to the ground, another one to register the woman standing over him. He took a split second to see the gun in the woman’s hand before Cerberus was moving at the command that slipped from his lips on instinct; the quick release clip snapping away as he launched at her. 

Cerberus latched onto her arm and tore into the flesh as he took her down, screaming. 

Then all hell broke loose. 

* * *

**1015 WET / 0615 EDT – Tenerife North, Airport Boundary – Surveillance Van**

_“TOC, Delta 1; confirmed that the pillars have no evidence of explosives, over.”_

Flynn frowned at the screens in front of him; his eyes confirming what his men were telling him. The pillars that were showing up in the feeds, while all different ones, looked nearly identical in that they were lacking the expected devices, or evidence that said devices were hiding inside. The intel they had looked so thorough, was it possible that despite the chatter, what they’d gathered was wrong? 

“All Delta units I’m going to get some answers, standby,” he replied, switching off his mic to his team and lowering the volume feeding into the van. “Price, Captain Lindell – you catch that?” To say he’d been surprised when Soap told him he’d called in the big guns had been an understatement, but Captain John Price was a SAS legend, and a man he was lucky enough to call friend. Considering the shit show they were wading into, it was good to have the man back, watching over him once again. 

_“I heard, Leaf,”_ Price replied _. “Something is definitely off, but the intel packet in front of me with the original transmissions do say they’re planning on using the pillars to set the charges.”_

_“Is it possible they were talking about different ones?”_ Lindell asked. _“It might be best to have Delta search them all to be sure.”_

“There’s too many to check without raising suspicions,” he replied, movement out of the corner of his eye making him glance up. Wilson was breaking away from his group to head off the person walking towards them. “We might need to -” 

What he was going to say escaped him completely when the screens before him seemed to erupt in chaos. He watched in horror as Wilson dropped, and guns seemed to fire at him from every monitor. He turned the volume back up; heard the screaming and gunfire as though it was happening right next to him. 

_“Flynn? Flynn! What the hell is going on?”_

_“The terrorists must’ve been in the terminal the whole time, Lindell! It’s an ambush!”_

“All Delta units I need a sitrep, over!” 

_“Soap, Delta’s just been engaged by hostiles at the airport, and their intel appears to be off! Negative, I don’t know anything - I’ll have another update for you shortly, over!”_

“Any Delta units, come in!” 

_“Man down!”_ Delta 2 yelled back. _“Man down!”_

He watched as Reynolds sprinted after his dog, watched as he grabbed Wilson and hauled him to safety. 

He watched as Delta 1 and 6 engaged the hostiles on their floor, ducking behind anything that gave them cover as they returned fire. 

He watched as Delta 2 and 3 lay down covering fire as Bravo 5 got Delta 5 to safety, firing in almost every direction as they were slowly surrounded. 

He watched as the EODs started pushing civilians towards the roof access they’d entered through minutes earlier, trying to help those that were being trampled without being trampled themselves. 

He watched as civilians dropped, their bodies torn apart by the bullets of the terrorists, or shoved to the ground by others fleeing; their screams mingling with gunfire, the sounds echoing through the van. 

He watched. All he could do, was _watch_. 

* * *

He didn’t see what happened, not really. 

One minute a young woman was approaching Kit, the next his friend was on the ground, clutching his abdomen as she lifted her handgun to fire again. It was like it had all happened in slow motion; time slowing to a crawl as he saw it all with startling clarity before everything sped up again. 

Which was good, because what wasn’t slow motion was the gunfire that erupted around them. 

“Aus!” he yelled, surging forward and shooting the woman in the head the moment Cerberus was clear. He grabbed Kit by the vest and dragged him upright so he didn’t get trampled by the stampede of screaming, fleeing tourists before pulling him to the cover of a nearby counter. “Cerberus! Hacke!” 

“I’m fine,” Kit grunted, his face drawn in pain as he smacked his hands away. “Bitch got me in the vest. Go!” 

He’d felt the dent in the kevlar so nodded as he swung his HK416 around. “Ready?” 

“On you.” 

With a final nod, he and Kit popped up from behind their barricade and sprinted opposite directions, firing at any hostiles they saw. “Hacke!” 

Cerberus sprinted after him, the Malagator sticking close to his heels as he headed to another counter for cover. 

That’s when he saw a man approach a group of children, firing at the floor just in front of them to scare them and laughing manically. 

He saw red. Without slowing he grabbed Cerb’s vest and swung the dog in the man’s direction. “STEHLEN!” 

As instructed, Cerberus flew at the man; Brock directly behind him. The man let out a piercing scream as the Hair Missile latched onto his left arm, snarling as he whipped his head once, tearing flesh and the momentum of Cerb’s leap dragged the hostile to the ground. 

Rather than shooting this one, Brock slammed his boot into the man’s face; the single blow knocking him out. “Aus!” he ordered when Cerberus continued to tug at the man’s arm, snarling all the while. “Exit’s that way!” he yelled at the cowering children; the dozen or so ashen and petrified at what was happening around them. “GO!” As the group sprinted the direction he pointed, he grabbed the unconscious man and dragged him to a counter, using zip-ties to secure his hands and feet before tossing him unceremoniously behind it. 

He looked at the AK-47 in his hands and shrugged his own weapon to his back – he wasn’t about to waste ammunition and leave any weapons lying around for someone to get any foolish ideas. “Hacke!” 

Leaping over bodies and abandoned luggage, with screams and gunfire ringing in his ears, he raced to where he could see Sam and Tim; the two SEALs backed into a corner behind a counter as they were fired at from either side. Getting to cover behind an overturned pretzel cart nearby, he lined up his shots and started thinning the gunmen out. 

_“Bravo 5; hostiles at your three o’clock!”_

“Copy!” Following Ramirez’s directions, he turned, taking out the two women that had just ducked behind their barricade. They were both taken out with a couple of rounds to the chest before he turned back to the group bearing down on the other two. 

“Reloading!” 

“Got you covered, 2!” he yelled back. Sam ducked down, switching mags before popping back up. Just in time too. 

_“Bravo 5; four hostiles moving fast on your six o’clock!”_

Swivelling around, he spotted them sneaking closer – likely planning to box the SEALs in completely. Knowing he was utterly exposed in the position he was in, Brock ditched the now empty AK and whipped out his sidearm, firing quickly; three gunmen dropping with a scream. He ducked when the gun clicked empty before he could take out the fourth, and in one fluid movement had his sidearm away, and a knife hurtling through the air; burying itself in the man’s stomach. Grabbing his HK416, he double tapped – adding a couple rounds to the body to ensure it stayed down. 

_“Good aim 5!”_ Flynn said in his ear, sounding impressed. _“Textbook example of using your secondary weapons. I know some pups that could learn a thing or two from you.”_

“MAN DOWN! I REPEAT, DELTA 2 IS DOWN!” 

Brock whipped around, saw Sam slumped against the barricade, his hand pressed against his side. Switching mags on his sidearm so it was ready to use if needed, he re-holstered it before breaking cover, but only after ordering Cerberus to stay where he was. 

Hostiles fell, but they seemed to be a never-ending swarm. “Delta 3, I’m approaching from your four o’clock,” he told the two SEALs, joining them a second later. He grunted when his main gun clicked empty. “Reloading!” 

“Got you covered,” Tim replied, and it was but a moment for Brock to eject the mag and shove in a fresh one. With his gun reloaded, he popped up and started firing again. 

Tim ducked down and got his hands on Sam; Brock listening to the medic with half an ear. 

“TOC this is Delta 3; 2 is down. I say again, 2 is down, over!” 

_“3 this is 1; how bad is he?”_

“I’m fine,” Sam wheezed, his face pale as blood oozed between his fingers. “Just a flesh wound.” 

“Flesh wound, my ass,” Tim retorted, ripping open a packet and slapping a bandage over the area. “Hold that and keep pressure on it. 1 this is 3; two rounds to the side of the chest; he needs a hospital asap.” 

_“3, TOC; get him to the exit – a patrol car will ferry him to the ambulances at the station, over.”_

“Copy TOC!” Tim looked at Brock when he ducked down, splinters flying everywhere when their barricade was clipped. “I need a diversion.” 

He nodded; already had a plan in place. “On it. CERBERUS!” 

There was a sharp bark in response; the Malagator listening and ready for his next command. “HACKE!”

Almost immediately the Malagator was darting to his side; skidding to a stop before he barreled into them. “Give me some covering fire,” he instructed; Tim complying immediately. Grabbing Cerberus’ vest, he pointed the dog to a pillar five feet away. “Ziel!”

Sprinting across the opening, Cerberus made it to the pillar and sat behind it so he was out of the line of fire. "Sam, I’m going to use your flashbangs, got it?”

“You break ‘em, you buy ‘em,” Delta 2 replied, his voice weaker than a moment ago.

“Copy that.” He grabbed two from Sam’s vest, and placed one in each hand; hooking the pin of each on the opposite finger. “Get ready to move,” he told the pair, before pulling the pins free. “FLASHBANG!” He yelled, giving any of their team who might be nearby enough warning before throwing them over the table and grabbing his gun in preparation. 

There were twin bangs, and multiple cries of pain. Popping up, he open-fired on the gunmen stumbling around, aware of the two SEALs suddenly moving for the exit. “STEHLEN!” 

Temporarily blinded, the hostiles fell like pins – one after another and didn’t get up. Between him and Cerberus, as well as Kit and Autumn when he glanced over, they made quick work of them. With his area now clear, he went running for cover further to the left where he could see Troy and the other three EODs locked in a firefight. “HACKE!” 

Cerberus at his side, he emptied his magazine at the three hostiles he could see before ducking, ejecting the clip and inserting a new one. 

_“Bravo 5, two hostiles at your ten o’clock; they’re outta my line of sight.”_

“Copy that.” Twisting slightly, he took a deep breath and popped up – stepping out from behind his cover to get a clear line of sight and firing at the pair Troy had indicated. He took them both out quickly, but not so quick enough that he avoided getting shot. 

He grunted when a bullet hit his left thigh and ducked behind cover again. “Fuck,” he muttered, probing it with his fingers to check the damage. It had barely clipped him, more of a graze than an actual wound, but it still burned. “Ow.” 

_“Bravo 5, Delta 5; you all good?”_

“Just clipped me,” he reported, tensing his leg and yup – that hurt. Shaking it off, he glanced around his barricade, saw the rest of the team advancing on what appeared to be the last remaining group of gunmen. “Coming to you.” 

“I see you,” Kit said as Brock made his way over, limping slightly when the exposed nerves screamed in protest. “You just had to outdo me, didn’t you Broccoli? Changing mag.” 

“Covering,” he replied, doing exactly that as his friend switched out his mags. “Couldn’t let you have all the fun, could I?” 

_“All Delta units, be advised that your support will be with you in less than ten mikes. Break. That appears to be your last group to deal with – take ‘em out.”_

Relief filled him. Bravo was coming. Then the dread set in. Uh oh, _Bravo was coming._

“You heard the man!” Troy yelled. As a group Brock, the EODs and the remnants of Delta converged on the last cluster; mowing them down one by one. 

Silence rang clear the moment the last tango hit the ground. Brock heaved a sigh of relief as he lowered his gun, looking around slowly. 

Bodies were strewn throughout the airport; the terrorists holding no qualms about killing civilians. Men, women and children all lay where they fell, and he took a second to pray that their deaths had been quick and painless.

Glass was shattered, tables overturned, luggage scattered. Quite frankly, it looked like a bomb had gone off. Only one hadn’t - which was kind of the problem. 

“Everyone all good?” Troy asked, marching towards the terrorists they’d taken down so Flynn could get a good view of their faces. That, and to make sure they were all as dead as they appeared. “TOC, what’s Delta 2’s status?” 

_“He’s been rushed to hospital, Delta 1,”_ Flynn replied. _“Doc’s gone with him.”_

“Shit,” Reece muttered. Brock shared the sentiment. Doing a quick stock take of his own body, aside from the graze to his thigh, and other bits of shrapnel that had sliced through fabric, he was feeling fine. He looked down to check on Cerberus, only to startle when he realised his boy wasn’t there. Fear crept in, the thought that maybe Cerberus had been hit without his knowledge flitting through his mind for a split second before he saw that the Malagator was sitting beside an overturned trolley nearby. 

Cerberus chuffed at him. 

“What have you got buddy?” As he rounded the trolley, his confusion only grew deeper. “What the hell?” 

Bricks of C4 were scattered all over the floor, having broken free from a suitcase on the ground. Activating his radio, he called Flynn. “TOC, Bravo 5; are you seeing this?” 

_“Receiving, Bravo 5. Is that what I think it is?”_

“If you think it’s C4, then yes sir, it’s what you think,” he replied, which… it made no sense whatsoever. Why was the C4 here, and not on the support columns like they were supposed to be? 

“Terrorists must’ve slept in this morning,” Kairos mused as he and Kit joined him. Brock watched curiously as the other EODs, Troy and Ramirez wandered around nearby. 

“Search for more, and survivors while you’re at it,” Troy yelled and oh, that’s what he was doing. “Guess it’s over now.” 

He turned back to Kit and Kairos, the strangeness of the situation not sitting right with him. “It doesn’t make any sense,” he told them, giving Cerberus a pat before pulling him away from the bricks. “Suchen,” he added, watching curiously as Cerberus started wandering around, angling back towards the cover of the first level. 

“What doesn’t?” Kairos asked, crouching to start checking for pulses. 

Trailing Cerberus, he watched his dog closely as he too started looking for survivors. Something else had to be going on here. Away from the mezzanine, Cerberus had been fine – but the moment he got closer, he started his weird half-sit routine. Why? “They wanted to make a statement with the anniversary of the disaster, yeah?” 

“Yeah…” 

“So why go to all this trouble of saying all the stuff they did, but not deliver on it?” 

Kit paused from where he was checking a young boy. So far, no one they’d come across had survived. “Look around Brock; there’s plenty of people dead.” 

“Yeah and a portion of those are the terrorists, yet not a single person was killed by a bomb,” he replied. “So they what? Slept in like Kairos said? Forgot to set the charges like they were going to do? Every single one of them?” 

That made Kit pause. Looking at his friend knowingly, Brock activated his radio again. “TOC, Bravo 5; did you get a hold of the airport manager.” 

_“Negative, which means we also haven’t been able to cancel aircraft coming in as we haven’t been able to reach ATC. From what I can see, a plane just landed and will be with you shortly - I suggest someone goes out there and tries to stop the pilot before any passengers see the bodies.”_

Sure enough, when he looked out the window he could see a plane slowly taxiing down the runway; the clock above the passenger gate reading four minutes. That was helpful to know they had four minutes before the plane parked up. “Copy.” 

“What are you thinking, Broccoli?” Kit asked. “I can see steam rising from your florets with how hard your brain’s working. Talk to me.” 

His foot fetched up against a downed ladder, and Brock moved around it. “Any other group of terrorists I would’ve said yep, they made their statement with this firefight. But these guys were also planning on hitting Heathrow; so this attack? It’s not the grand scale statement we expected of them. In fact it’s almost nothing, considering they all wound up dead.” 

Kit paled considerably. Even Kairos looked worried. “You think we’re missing something,” Kit muttered, looking around warily as though he expected the answer to jump out at them. “Shit, we _are_ missing something.” 

After confirming the man beneath his fingertips was gone, Brock stayed in a crouch; watching Cerberus closely. 

When in doubt, he always trusted his dog. 

He watched as Cerberus walked around a ladder, pausing to sniff it before moving on again. A ladder. He looked around the terminal, alarm bells starting to go off when he saw multiple of them scattered throughout. More ladders than one would expect to see, even if there was maintenance going on. 

The one that he’d been beside was near the escalator, which meant they were at the edge of the mezzanine floor. He righted it and climbed up, wincing slightly as his leg protested the sudden strain – and sure enough, he could see where a panel had recently been disturbed. Taking a deep breath he pushed it up slowly before sticking his head in the roof cavity. 

It felt like his chest had caved in, with how quickly his breath left him. 

As far as his eyes could see, there were flashing lights; C4 bricks laid at even intervals, their wires all connecting and crisscrossing to the brick next to it. They were all flashing, and all armed. “Oh god.” 

_“All Delta units, get outta there!”_ Flynn yelled, evidently having seen what Brock had. _“The building is rigged to blow!”_

His ladder moved, and Kairos suddenly popped up beside him. “Holy shit,” the EOD muttered, but instead of climbing down again, he moved up for a closer look; carefully prodding the one closest to them. “Give me a sec, with the terrorists gone we might be able to disarm these.” 

Climbing down, and cursing his leg as it screamed at him yet again, Brock looked around. Something was still off about the situation – something didn’t sit quite right with him about the whole setup.

Then he saw it. 

“Kairos c’mon,” he heard Kit say, but he wasn’t paying attention to his friend. Nor to the rest of the team who were yelling. No, his attention was solely on the single wire he could see running the length of the roof. 

Cerberus whined, and he glanced down at his boy who had joined him before looking back to the wire; moving on autopilot as he followed it. 

The knowledge that Cerberus had been as accurate as he always was, was a relief. If not for him sensing the multiple explosives, they’d likely have never known what the terrorists had done. Unfortunately, the pride he felt was overshadowed by the worry at not yet understanding what was _planned_. 

“Brock! BROCK!” He paid no mind to Kit as the man tugged at his arm, his attention on the wire that ran down to the clock that was above the passenger gate. He watched as the plane slowly pulled in; noticed when the clock above the gate read forty seconds. Felt sick when he realised what it meant – what was about to happen. “Brock we have to get outta here! Kairos, MOVE IT!” 

“TOC this is Bravo 5,” he choked out, grabbing Kit’s arm and running the direction the team had gone – away from the plane full of passengers that was nearly at the terminal. “The plate the plane’s about to roll onto – it’s the trigger! The plane is their endgame!” 

_“EVERYBODY OUT!”_ Troy roared. Brock could see him and the rest of the team sprinting for the exit doors. 

“ _MOVE! GET OUTTA THERE NOW, IT’S AN ORDER! MOVE IT!”_

“CERBERUS, LAUF LAUF LAUF!” 

As instructed, Cerberus took off at a dead sprint to the doors as he’d indicated, he and Kit racing after him with Kairos just ahead of them. 

Kit stumbled and Brock grabbed his arm, yanking his friend forward and shoving him closer to their target; the momentum turning him enough that he watched the plane slow to a stop – watched as the timer skipped from twenty seconds to five in the blink of an eye. 

They were too far from the exit. 

Grabbing Kit, he shoved him at the counter they’d just passed, his friend slipping over on the blood that coated the floor and sliding underneath it with a yell of surprise. 

His leg gave out on him then, the sudden pain bringing him crashing to his knees, and even as he scrambled for a screaming Kit, he saw the ground beneath the plane explode – was witness to the shrapnel ripping through the engines and tearing the plane apart.

“BROCK!” 

The building seemed to heave, and Brock scrambled blindly for something, _anything_ that would give him cover as the concrete plummeted down around him, a final thought flitting through his mind before it all went black.

_Lord let me not prove unworthy of my Brothers._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> APB: All-Points Bulletin
> 
> Aus (german) - Off  
> Suchen (german) - Seek  
> Sitz/Sitzen (german) – sit  
> Praten (dutch) – talk  
> Ruhig (German) – quiet  
> Hacke (german) – heel  
> Lauf (german) – run  
> Ziel (german) - target  
> Stehlen (german - pronounced Sh-te-len) – steal  
> (As a couple of lovely readers have pointed out, G.Translate lied to me when I started researching the words Justin uses. Schtelen isn’t German. Its detected as Luxembourgish (what?) but when put in the German – English translate it still translates to shake :/ The closest is Stehlen, which translates to ‘steal’. Please ignore the original word – this has since been updated in all chapters!)
> 
> “To those before us, to those amongst us, to those we will see on the other side. Lord let me not prove unworthy of my Brothers.” was coined by Navy SEAL Chief Special Warfare Operator Bradley S. Cavner, who passed away from fatal injuries he suffered during a training jump in 2014, mere weeks after returning from Afghanistan.
> 
> The first saying now appears to be an immortalised quote with Navy SEALs, and is uttered by Bravo in S2x20, when the team are honouring Swanny after his death.
> 
> The Navy Creed in the story is only the second half of the full creed, which is as follows:
> 
> “In times of war or uncertainty there is a special breed of warrior ready to answer our Nation’s call. A common man with uncommon desire to succeed. Forged by adversity, he stands alongside America’s finest special operations forces to serve his country, the American people, and protect their way of life. I am that man.
> 
> My Trident is a symbol of honor and heritage. Bestowed upon me by the heroes that have gone before, it embodies the trust of those I have sworn to protect. By wearing the Trident I accept the responsibility of my chosen profession and way of life. It is a privilege that I must earn every day.
> 
> My loyalty to Country and Team is beyond reproach. I humbly serve as a guardian to my fellow Americans always ready to defend those who are unable to defend themselves. I do not advertise the nature of my work, nor seek recognition for my actions. I voluntarily accept the inherent hazards of my profession, placing the welfare and security of others before my own.
> 
> I serve with honor on and off the battlefield. The ability to control my emotions and my actions, regardless of circumstance, sets me apart from other men. Uncompromising integrity is my standard. My character and honor are steadfast. My word is my bond.
> 
> We expect to lead and be led. In the absence of orders I will take charge, lead my teammates and accomplish the mission. I lead by example in all situations.
> 
> I will never quit. I persevere and thrive on adversity. My Nation expects me to be physically harder and mentally stronger than my enemies. If knocked down, I will get back up, every time. I will draw on every remaining ounce of strength to protect my teammates and to accomplish our mission. I am never out of the fight.
> 
> We demand discipline. We expect innovation. The lives of my teammates and the success of our mission depend on me – my technical skill, tactical proficiency, and attention to detail. My training is never complete.
> 
> We train for war and fight to win. I stand ready to bring the full spectrum of combat power to bear in order to achieve my mission and the goals established by my country. The execution of my duties will be swift and violent when required yet guided by the very principles that I serve to defend.
> 
> Brave men have fought and died building the proud tradition and feared reputation that I am bound to uphold. In the worst of conditions, the legacy of my teammates steadies my resolve and silently guides my every deed. I will not fail.”
> 
> The section that Brock recites to himself is what Sonny recites in the plane after Adam’s death in S2x05. For the sake of the show, I can understand why they only quoted the second half of the creed, however it also (to me, anyway) focuses on the selflessness that Adam showed. I hope you all found the full creed as interesting as I did!
> 
> If you ever want to know what weapons they use in SEAL Team, the website Internet Movie Firearms Database (yes, apparently it’s a thing as I recently discovered) has a full list. Thank goodness I checked, because Brock would’ve been running around with a G36C (thanks CoD) which, while from the same manufactures, is NOT what the team carry. It’s actually quite an interesting website, so pays to look it up and pull up their SEAL Team page!


	8. The Aftermath

**A/N: *waves* helllllooooo! Have we all recovered from last chapter? Hearts settled? Computers/phones wiped clean? Hopefully! I'm just relieved the chapter wasn't a dud! From your reactions, seems like you enjoyed it, although that might not be the word some of you would use, come to think of it!**

**So... enjoy? Things have gone boom, now we have to deal with the fall out! Uh oh spagetti-o....**

**Special shout out to[Muggleborn12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muggleborn12), [SlickesGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlickesGirl), [bluedragonmaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedragonmaid), [Rantsandobliviousness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rantsandobliviousness), [Norwegian_Youth_SOF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Norwegian_Youth_SOF), [Morgan_Jean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgan_Jean), [Owebee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owebee), [DonnaJ66](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DonnaJ66), [illyria13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyria13), [FlutieCutie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlutieCutie), [TinyNinjaWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyNinjaWolf), [Samsam572](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samsam572), [FancyHippopotamoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyHippopotamoose), [Quetzalcoatl_hime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quetzalcoatl_hime), [burn_me_down](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burn_me_down), [KazooKaren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren), [nhardoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhardoy), [ghostwriter_44](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwriter_44), [Raeschiev9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raeschiev9), [ShellyFanFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic), [Hayzkid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hayzkid), [Irish1969](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish1969), [Laura42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura42), [Floopdeedoopdee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floopdeedoopdee), [Eggerthella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggerthella), [purplerain88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplerain88), [blabliblablu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blabliblablu), [TheLaurinchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLaurinchen), [MiaMalfoy716](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaMalfoy716), [CamilleMadeAnAccount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount), [Jemmacatt14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemmacatt14), [Wurdsmadder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wurdsmadder), [NobodyKnowsWhoIAM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobodyKnowsWhoIAM), and [Bastet5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastet5) as well as the 68 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are awesome!**

* * *

**_1050 WET / 0650 EDT – Overhead Tenerife – Police Helicopter #1_**

_“Bravo 1, HAVOC; how copy?”_

“Solid copy HAVOC,” he replied, satisfied when Lisa’s voice came through clearly over the radio. “You have an update for us?” 

The update they’d received when they landed hadn’t been a good one. Delta had been engaged in a firefight not long after entering the airport, and so far Delta 2 had been rushed to hospital with Delta 3 escorting him. If the intel about Sam’s injuries was correct, then it wasn’t looking good. 

_“Affirmative Bravo 1,”_ Lisa replied. “ _All but one group of hostiles have been eliminated; which Delta’s handling now. They’ll begin searching for survivors when they’re done.”_

_“Basically, they had the party without you,”_ Sonny added. Jason couldn’t blame Sonny for sounding as stressed as he did – knowing Brock was currently in the middle of a situation without any of them there to support him was sending his own stress levels skyrocketing. _“It’s been a pretty hefty firefight though, Jase. Looks like our boy got hit in the thigh, but he’s mobile.”_

Glancing at Trent and Clay when they both made a noise at that, he shared a look with Ray. If Brock walked away from this with nothing more than a bullet wound, he’d take it. Still, it was one wound too many, as far as he was concerned. “Copy all. We’re less than ten mikes out, over.” 

_“Copy Bravo 1,”_ Lisa replied. _“We’ll let them know. Good luck out there.”_

_“On a scale of one to smother hen, how’re you feeling Jase?”_

Glaring at the helicopter flying beside them, he gave who he thought was Metal the finger. The wave he was given in return told him absolutely nothing, because any of Alpha would’ve responded the same. “Bite me,” he grumbled. “If that’s all he has, I’ll bloody well take it.” 

_“Trent? Clay? Where you boys sitting on the scale?”_

Trent and Clay also gave the second helicopter the finger, and Jason snorted when all of Alpha waved back. Assholes. 

_“Are they all pouting, Bravo 2?”_ Hollier asked over comms, sounding far too chipper for his own good. _“They’re all pouting, aren’t they?”_

“Furiously,” Ray laughed. “If you lot spontaneously combust, that’s what caused it.” 

_“Copy that!”_

_“I’m feeling hot under the collar,”_ Full Metal said dryly. _“That count?”_

“I’ll put something under your collar, and you bloody well won’t like it,” Clay replied, giving the second helicopter a double barrel salute when Alpha all “oooh’d” him over comms. “Ah go suck start a pistol, the lotta you!” 

The ribbing was what helped keep them calm and focused on the task ahead – but that concentration shattered when the comms crackled to life; the entirety of Bravo going rigid when Sonny came back on, sounding panicked. 

_“Jase! Jase the airport’s rigged to blow!”_

He could’ve sworn his heart had stopped, the panic gripped him that tightly. “Repeat dispatch!” 

_“Brock just found C-4 in the roof, and he – where is he going? Lisa, where the hell is he going?!”_

Either Sonny forgot to let go of the mic button, or he deliberately held onto it so the two teams could hear what was going on. 

It sounded like utter chaos aboard the C-17, multiple radios going off at once and people yelling back and forth. 

_“Leaf! Get your men outta there now! Soap, check the roof for explosives!”_

_“Order the evacuation Leroy! I do not want to lose any of our men!”_

_“The hell is he doing?! Blackburn! Blackburn, radio Brock and tell him to get the hell outta there!”_

_“We don’t have comms with them Sonny!”_

_“Has_ anyone _tried to reach ATC?!”_

_“TOC this is Bravo 5; the plate the plane’s about to roll onto – it’s the trigger! The plane is their endgame!”_

Jason turned to his team, certain he looked as stricken as the rest of them. Although not entirely clear due to the chain of radios his voice was broadcast through, the fear in Brock’s voice was evident. 

_“EVERYBODY OUT!”_

“ _MOVE! GET OUTTA THERE NOW, IT’S AN ORDER! MOVE IT!”_

As they came up to the airport, hurtling over the runway towards the terminal, everything from the outside looked normal. But as they got closer he could see the floor of the building scattered with lumps – _bodies,_ he realized absently – everywhere. He also got a close up view of the plane that Brock was talking about; saw it stop moving as it applied the brakes. 

The airport _heaved_.

One minute it was stationary, the next it seemed to expand before it collapsed in on itself; multiple explosions swallowing the roof and debris turning into deadly projectiles as they were flung up and outwards. The plane tore itself apart and alarms started blaring, the force of the bombs rocking the helicopters violently with the shockwave. 

Their pilot cursed, heaving on the cyclic and collective simultaneously as he forced the helicopter to bank suddenly to try and get away from danger; the screams of multiple people white noise in his ears. 

“ _-SE! JASE! BROCK’S STILL IN THERE! HE DIDN’T MAKE IT OUT! JASE!”_

“Copy,” he replied, breathless from the sudden G-forces they were subjected to, and the shock of watching a building collapse in on itself. Shaking himself, he cleared his throat – steeled himself for what was to come; what all the teams needed him to do. “Copy, Sonny. We’re landing in two – I need everyone to calm the fuck down. Take a breath, put what you’re feeling away. We’ve still got a job to do – so let’s get it done.” 

He grabbed one of the headsets beside his head and took his helmet off so he could swap his comms over. Leaning forward, he tapped the co-pilot on the shoulder. “Set us down as close as you can to the entrance.” 

_“We cannot,_ ” the co-pilot replied, his Spanish accent thick and only just understandable. _“The ground could be unstable.”_

Jason looked down, saw that the road of the terminal had gaping cracks now running through it, but still looked relatively okay. “You don’t need to set down,” he countered, “just hover enough for us to get out.” 

_“Understood,”_ the pilot replied, and he startled at the Australian accent. Something about the man’s demeanour screamed former military, and Jason was glad for it. The pilot would do exactly what was needed to get them there. _“Get ready to disembark. We’ll land back at the station and will stay on comms with your base; call us however often you need to ferry people to the hospital.”_

“Copy that,” he replied before removing the headset. Donning his own, he clipped his helmet into place. “All Alpha and Bravo units be advised, our pilots are going to do a hover dismount for us; get ready.” 

Now that they had a clear task, Jason could see the focus come over his men once again. 

Fingers tightened their hold on weapons, jaws clenched as they steeled themselves. 

The helicopters lowered and hovered a foot off the ground. The pilot gave a thumbs up over his shoulder, and Jason slid the door open. “Let’s go!” 

Boots on the ground, both teams disembarked and approached the smoldering ruins; each moving carefully in case someone came bursting out of the rubble that needed to be helped, or restrained.

There was nothing. No screaming, no movement – the only sound they could hear were the fires crackling away, but even they were sparse – the majority of the structure made of materials that were unable to burn.

It was just… silent.

“Yeah I’m calling it,” Reed muttered into the quiet that had fallen after the helicopters had lifted for the police station. “This is officially creepy.”

Creepy was the perfect way to describe it. They were all used to the tragic outcome of a warzone, so were used to the sounds that accompanied it. But this wasn’t a warzone, which meant that what one would usually expect to be faced with didn’t necessarily apply here.

If anything, the silence was unnerving – like the entire area was holding its breath as it waited. He hated situations like this; to say it made his skin crawl was an understatement.

“What do we do, Jase?” Ray asked quietly. “We don’t even know where to start.”

He bit his lip, eyes scanning the seemingly endless pile of rubble. Aside from their brothers, there could still be innocents trapped. Curiously, there was no one wandering around that had escaped the initial siege – although in the far distance he could make out flashing lights, so it was possible they’d been ferried away the moment the shooting started.

“We need an area for me to triage,” Danny told them, so he nodded; grateful that the first step had been decided by someone else. Setting up a medical zone was the most logical thing – then they could start on search and rescue.

Just as he was about to tell Danny to find a suitable area, Ruby started yipping – straining at the lead that Richie was forced to hold tight so she couldn’t take off. 

“Cane, what is it?” 

Alpha 4 looked at him and shrugged, tugging his dog back to him. “Not sure, Bravo 1,” he replied. “We’re too far for -”

“Quiet!” Clay interrupted, his expression intense as he listened. “You hear that?”

Confused, Jason did the same but didn’t hear anything. “Spense?”

Ruby barked, and then he heard it – a faint, high pitched whine. “Cerberus!” He yelled, eyes scanning the rubble for their K-9 companion, but not seeing him. “Here boy!” 

But Cerberus didn’t come running. Knowing that he could be trapped, or injured, he broke into a jog; eyes scouring the road for any uneven areas beyond the cracks and finding surprisingly few. As a group, they kept calling for Cerberus, and the responding whines helped lead them directly to the downed Malagator.

Cerberus’ top half was uncovered, and he was covered in dust and blood. Clay charged forward and set his gun down, shushing the dog who started squirming when he saw his favourite blond. “Shh, Cerb,” Clay said, his voice calm in an effort to convince the dog to be the same. “Calm down buddy, shh.”

The moment he laid his hands on Cerberus’ head, the Malagator seemed to sag; whining softly but no longer moving. “Jase, Trent; take a look and see what’s pinning him, would ya?”

Jason set his gun next to Clay’s and lay down beside the debris that had Cerberus pinned. He pulled out his flashlight, and shone it underneath. “He looks okay,” he told Trent who had just gone prone next to him. “Looks like he’s just pinned, and I don’t see any large pools of blood.”

“Neither do I,” Trent concurred. “We should be able to lift this free. Metal, Reed; give us a hand.”

In the end, the entire team gathered around to lift the debris holding Cerberus in place. Richie was crouched beside Clay, ready to pull Cerberus out if the situation required it, while Clay shuffled forward so he had the Malagator half in his lap. Ruby was busy licking her friend’s face in her own show of support.

“On three boys,” Jason told the two teams, and they all crouched in preparation. “Go slow – once we have the weight, Trent will check to make sure nothing’s wrong before Clay pulls Cerb free. One, two, three.”

As a group, Alpha and Bravo took the weight of the concrete slab before lifting slowly, and Trent shone his torch around to check that nothing had caused any serious damage. Aside from some nasty looking cuts to Cerberus’ side and back legs, he was free to be moved.

He was about to tell Clay that, when Cerberus beat them to it.

The moment the debris was off him, he was scrambling upright – whining and favouring his rear left leg. They set the slab to the side, and Clay held the Malagator in his lap so Trent could take a closer look.

“He all good Trent?”

The medic shuffled forwards and removed his gloves. “Danny, pass me a water bottle would you?”

One was handed over, and along with a cloth Danny produced from his pocket he carefully tipped water onto the worst cuts he could see, apologizing every time Cerberus flinched. “I know buddy, I know. I’m sorry.” Cerberus licked his hand, and Trent pressed a kiss to his head before continuing on.

Jason knew that Trent undoubtedly felt like utter shit for causing Cerberus pain, but it had to be done. Brock would never forgive them if they didn’t treat their canine companion’s injuries because they didn’t want to upset him. “Trent? Do we need to get him out of here?”

“Cerberus would kick up a fuss if we tried to sideline him,” the medic replied, already digging through his bag. “And we’re going to need him to help find the others. I’ve got some heavy duty numbing cream in my kit that I carry for him in case something like this happens – I’ll stitch him up, and he should be good to go.”

“You hear that buddy?” Clay whispered to the Malagator, smiling when Cerberus tried to lick him. “You get to help find your dad. Because we all know that if anyone can find him, it’s you.”

* * *

In no time at all, Cerberus was stitched, bandaged and ready to go. He was limping, but he didn’t let it hinder him in the slightest.

As Trent worked, Alpha and Ray had helped Danny clear an area and set up a zone where his medical supplies would be in easy reach for anyone he had to work on. It was a good thing they had because no sooner was Cerberus let up, than he hobbled towards the rubble; jumping onto it with his head going back and forth several times before he barked once and started digging with the fierce determination he was known for.

“Cerb? What you got boy?”

The dog looked at Jason, barked again and continued digging.

Sharing a look of confusion with Trent and Clay, they made their way over to see what had caught Cerberus’ interest. The reason for his digging became clear moments later when Trent shifted a slab of concrete and an all too familiar military-style boot was revealed. 

“We got someone!” Trent yelled, and Jason shook off the surprise of finding one of their team so close. Trent’s yell caught the attention of the others who came running over. “Richie, grab Cerb and get him to rest his leg for a bit,” the medic ordered. “The rest of you give me a hand!” 

“Good boy Cerb,” Jason told the canine as Alpha 4 did as ordered. “I don’t care what Brock says, you’re getting the biggest bone the butcher has when we get home.”

The work of recovering their brother was slow going. Trent, Danny and Alex were pushing them quickly but carefully when they’d confirmed a strong pulse in the man’s now exposed ankle, and they were only a quarter of the way through digging when a vehicle pulled up, a quick glance over his shoulder showing him it was Flynn. 

“Ray, Metal, Hollier, Cane – with me. The rest of you get our man clear.” 

There was a shuffle of bodies and the rest of Alpha and Bravo continued to free their brother. Wiping his hands on his pants, Jason and the others made their way over to a grim looking Flynn. The man nodded in greeting. 

“Lads, good to see you.” 

“Circumstances could be better,” Ray replied. “But we’ll get them out. We won’t stop until all our boys are with us.” 

“Appreciate it,” the CO said, running a hand through his hair. The man looked exhausted; considering how his day had started, and that he was now missing all but two of his team, it wasn’t surprising in the slightest. 

“How’s Stone?” he asked. “Any news?” 

“Two bullets entered the side of his chest; they’re still trying to stabilise him enough to get them out, but…” Flynn swallowed. “There’s a pretty high chance he won’t operate again, if they can’t remove them.” 

“Fuck.” Sam was a damned good operator, and his removal from the teams would be a huge loss. Jason prayed to Alana and whoever else was watching over him that the man pulled through. “Where’s Doc?” 

“Tim’s gunna stay at the hospital, coordinate from that side as our men are brought in and make sure they’re given the right treatment. He’ll liaise with Blackburn for any that need transporting to the mainland.” 

Nodding, Jason looked the man over critically. “You all good?” 

“My men are buried somewhere under all that, so no – I’m not.” Looking away, Flynn sighed heavily. “If there’s one thing I’m now grateful for, it’s the fact we hit delay after delay today – because it meant you boys were here immediately, instead of in a few hours, which means that anyone who survived the blast has a chance of pulling through this.” 

“We’ll bring them home,” Ray said again. “We’ll make sure of it.” 

Flynn nodded. “I know we will. Now, with the footage from the cameras I’m going to try pinpoint where each of them were when the explosion happened – should make locating them easier. We’ve got choppers inbound with slings to help shift the bigger debris, so that should make things go faster. Any of you boys got an IR sensor in your kit?” Richie flicked his fingers in acknowledgment, and Flynn nodded. “Good, we’ll be using that as well to search for survivors.” 

“Jase!” 

He turned when Clay called his name, and they all hurried over when they saw the others lifting the SEAL free of the rubble. 

The man was a mess; covered in dust, blood and out cold. He was also someone Jason didn’t recognise, but Flynn was able to identify him immediately. 

“Winters,” Flynn said, crouching down next to him when the medics laid him out. “He alive?” 

“He’s got a strong pulse,” Danny told them before indicating the ugly lump on his head. “Just out cold; his helmet protected him from most of the debris but the rubble must’ve clipped him. They’ll need to check him for a concussion, but he should be fine.” 

“Good,” Flynn said, sighing heavily. “That’s good.” 

Cerberus took that opportunity to start whining, tugging at the lead Richie had clipped to his harness; Ruby starting up shortly after. 

“Whatcha got?” Richie asked them, letting them tug him back towards the rubble. “Whatcha got?” 

There was a low groan beneath the mess of concrete and iron not far from where they’d just freed Winters, and Alpha 4 looked back at them. “That’s what we got,” he said, surprised. “Let’s dig ‘em up!” 

“That’ll likely be Springfield,” Flynn told them. “They were close together when they evacuated. Dig him out; I’m going organise a chopper to get them to the hospital, then I’ll start reviewing the footage to come up with a plan.” 

* * *

Because of how close Winters and Springfield had been to the entrance doors, they escaped serious injury; in fact Winters had regained consciousness by the time they uncovered Springfield – the man pushing himself upright and looking around dazedly. 

“Wha’ happened?” 

“Someone dropped a building on you,” Danny replied, leaving Mike with Trent and Alex and crouching in front of the man. He pulled out a pen light and checked his pupil responses. “How’re you feeling?” 

“Well tha’s a bit rude of ‘em,” Winters rasped, blinking heavily. “What’d I do?” 

He snorted. “Definitely got a concussion,” he told the man, writing the results on his notepad. They weren’t fantastic, but he was conscious and talking which was the main thing. “Couple of busted ribs too, so stop moving around would ya?” 

“Well tha’s no reason t’drop a buildin’ on s’meone,” Winters wheezed. Danny pushed his hand away when the EOD tried to rub his chest. “Y’should tell ‘em i’s imp…imp’lite.” 

“I’ll get right on that,” he replied. “Oi, busted ribs means no touchy ribs, you dolt. Look at me.” 

“Mmmnope,” Winters replied, popping his ‘p’ before passing out again. 

He caught the man as he listed to the side, settling him on the ground carefully. Sudden jarring of either of his injuries was the last thing his patient needed right now. “Yeah you’re going to need at least your head scanned,” he muttered, pushing to his feet and wandering over to the van that Jason and Full Metal were peering into to see where the helicopter was at. The sooner he was in a hospital, the better.

“He all good?” Jason asked him when he drew level with the two SEALs. 

Danny rolled his eyes. “I know Winters well enough that his personality is still intact,” he replied, “but he’ll need a scan to check the extent of the damage. They’ve finished extracting Springfield, so a medivac would be good about now.” 

“I’m on it,” Flynn replied, and Danny glanced in the van to see the man pause the video he was examining. “TOC to HAVOC, come in.” 

_“HAVOC receiving,”_ Blackburn’s voice replied, the sound clear despite the distance between them. _“You got an update for us?”_

“We’ve extracted Winters and Springfield, so you can send the first lot of medivacs in.” 

_“Copy that,”_ Blackburn replied, and Danny knew Davis would already be coordinating the choppers. _“Any progress on the others?”_

“Just about finished identifying their locations,” Flynn replied, which surprised him. He’d expected pinpointing the remainder of the team to take longer. “Once I’ve ID’d them all, the teams will roll out to examine the area and we’ll get the helo’s with the slings in to start removing the debris.” 

_“Understood. The Guardia have called in pilots from neighbouring islands that have sling experience; so far you have three at your disposal, plus three medical choppers.”_

“Copy all, I’ll be in touch with an update soon. TOC out.” Cutting the line, Flynn made a note before turning back to them. 

“Hayes, Carter – go wave the helo’s in; Danny, get those men ready to move. Once they’re on board come back and I’ll give you your next tasks.” 

With a nod, Danny headed back to Winters, confirmed he was still unconscious before heading to Trent and Alex who were huddled over Springfield. “How is he?” 

Trent shuffled sideways to make room for him, and he winced at what he saw. Ouch. 

“Broken collar bone, broken right wrist and open fracture on his left leg,” Alex replied, securing another bandage to the already bloodied ones on Springfield’s shin. “Probably got a concussion, and it feels like there could be a couple of broken ribs too.” 

“BP’s a bit low,” Trent added, securing an IV line. “He’ll definitely need surgery. Any update on how we’re getting these guys outta here?” 

He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the repetitive thump-thump-thump of rotor blades. “Heli’s are gonna take ‘em to the hospital.” 

“Mr miracle man over here,” Alex laughed. “Snaps his fingers and there it is.” 

“Takes years of dealing with you lot to get this good,” he retorted, clapping Alex on the shoulder as he stood to greet the medics. “You got some work to do buddy.” 

Ignoring Alex’s indignant splutter, he made his way over to the nearest medic “Hola, we’ve got two wounded for you.” 

“Understood,” the woman replied, crouching down in the spot he’d just vacated. He was impressed with how professional she remained; a brief glance at the ruins before her and then she was all business. “This one’s the worst?” 

“Yes ma’am,” Alex replied, and proceeded to give her a rundown of Springfield’s injuries. He saw the second lot of medics hurrying over and left Alex to deal with the first crew, making his way back to Winters and waving the team to the other EOD.

“Got a man for you here!” 

Following Alex’s lead, he gave the medics the rundown as they loaded Winters onto a backboard. “We’ve got a man at the hospital, Tim Death,” he told them, holding back a laugh when two of the medics flinched slightly. Maybe Tim ought to consider changing his name so he didn’t have to worry about superstitious people anymore. “He’ll oversee our guys as they come in, so don’t be surprised if he meets you when you land.” 

“Okay,” the medic replied. “We’ll get the hospital to radio for him so he knows we’re inbound, señor.” 

“Appreciate it.” 

Winters chose that moment to wake, groaning as he tried to push off the hands touching him. “Don’ wanna go on a field trip,” he slurred, grunting irritably when he was promptly rolled then strapped to the board. “S’Autumn’s turn.” 

“She’s going on the field trip too,” he told the concussed EOD, squeezing his shoulder gently. “Behave for these guys, would ya?” 

“Yes mum,” Winters replied, and once again passed out. 

Shaking his head, Danny pushed to his feet. “Good luck with him, and I’ll see you guys soon.” 

With a nod, the medics lifted the board and carried their patient to the waiting helicopter, the other crew already lifting for the hospital. Trent and Alex were already heading to join the rest of the team, so he hurried over to catch them up. 

Flynn was just finishing a drawing on the side of the van, and Danny knew immediately what the stars he’d marked on there were. 

“Alright,” Flynn said when he confirmed they were all gathered around. “Here’s what we’re going to do.” 

* * *

The plan was simple. Alpha and Bravo would carry out individual searches – starting from the edge of the terminal building and making their way in. Richie and Ruby would go with Alpha, along with his infrared sensor, and Clay would take Cerberus. As it turned out, the young sniper had packed his sensor as well, so both teams would have a greater chance of pinpointing the location of any survivors. 

It wasn’t just the SEALs they were tasked with recovering, but any civilians as well; although from what Flynn had seen so far in the footage, none had moved when the evacuation order had been given, so it was unlikely they were alive. 

Rescue Fire were searching the plane wreckage for survivors, and once they’d finished locking down the scene and putting out the fires they would start on the unpleasant task of body recovery; both on the plane and the terminal. 

Jason knew there were teams being flown in from Madrid to assist with the effort, but they were still a few hours out. Picking his way across the rubble, staying just behind Clay so he didn’t throw Cerberus off, he activated his radio when he remembered they’d yet to receive an update on Heathrow. 

“TOC, Bravo 1.” 

_“Receiving, go ahead,”_ Flynn replied immediately. 

“What’s the sitrep for Heathrow? Is it under control?” 

_“Unknown at this stage,”_ Flynn replied. _“SAS have gone radio silent; Lindell’s trying to get an update from them but isn’t having a lot of luck.”_

“Understood TOC, out.” Bugger. He had hoped that despite the shitty situation here, there had been enough intel to avoid a repeat in London. The lack of communication from their British counterparts was less than encouraging, and he wondered what that meant. 

“What’re you thinking boss?” Clay asked, moving slowly over the debris as Cerberus sniffed around ahead of him. 

“Just that all this better have been worth it,” he said, pausing when Clay did – the entirety of Bravo watching Cerberus pay particular attention to one spot. “Any brothers lost because of this will only be justifiable if they managed to stop the attack on Heathrow.” 

“Amen to that,” Ray said from his left. “But no news has gotta be good news, Jase. There’d have been a flood of news outlets already reporting on it if the attack was taking place.” Lisa had called them to let them know the attack on Tenerife was already in the headlines, and speculation about what had happened had been rife. He could’ve sworn he’d seen the odd glint of sun on glass at the airport edge, but the four police departments had locked the scene down pretty damn quickly, so he wasn’t sure. 

“Let’s hope so,” he muttered, frowning when Cerberus whined quietly. “Clay?” 

Clay clipped Cerberus to his harness and crouched, running the IR sensor over the area. “Not sure boss,” the kid admitted after a minute of scanning. “Might be a body, just not one of ours.” 

It couldn’t be. The first SEAL that was potentially near their location was Troy, and he was still a good ten meters or so in. “Mark it and move on,” he said eventually. Even if, by some strange happenstance it _was_ one of theirs, the sensor hadn’t picked up any heat signatures. Whoever it was, was gone. They had to prioritize potential survivours over deceased ones. 

“Copy that.” Clay removed a can of yellow paint and marked a circle where Cerberus had been sniffing. “Cerb, suchen.” 

The dog started weaving through the debris, Bravo following along behind; dodging the scant few areas with still smouldering hotspots as they continued inwards. 

It was slow work. Cerberus had focused on four other areas that Clay promptly marked, before he eventually started whining at the fifth. 

Clay raised a fist, and Bravo paused as the sniper consulted his scanner, moving it back and forth slowly, pacing closer, turning, pacing again - before he straightened up and smiled back at them. “Got one.” 

Nodding, Jason activated his radio. “TOC, Bravo 1.” 

_“Receiving 1, go ahead.”_

“Positive ID on a survivor, going to proceed with digging them out. Have a chopper on standby, over.” 

_“Copy all; chopper’s ready when you are.”_

“Alright boys,” he said, looking around at the way the debris had fallen. “It’s like a massive game of Jenga – slow is smooth -” 

“And smooth is fast,” his team finished for him, faces set in determination. 

Nodding once, Jason felt a swell of pride at the knowledge he was lucky to not only lead these men, but also serve beside them. 

“Let’s get it done.” 

* * *

_“Reynolds, good to see you!”_

_Brock turned around, smiled at the man who was walking towards him. “Ryan, hey. Thanks for taking the time to come see me.”_

_Ryan waved him off. “The fact that they’re letting me stay on instead of medically retiring me is a blessing in disguise.” The man’s face fell for a second, and Brock knew he couldn’t even begin to imagine what must be going through his mind. “Frankly, I don’t know what I’d do with myself otherwise. The K-9 unit is all I’ve ever known.”_

_Uncertain what to say, he gave the handler what he hoped was a kind smile. “They’d be fools to get rid of you when you still have so much to give. Shall we?”_

_The sadness cleared from Ryan’s eyes, the darkness replaced with light. “Sure thing, kid. Let’s introduce you.”_

_Brock drew level with the handler, let him set the pace based on what his prosthetic would allow. What he’d said was what he truly believed. Just because a person couldn’t continue operating, didn’t mean they were immediately useless – a mentality the military was shockingly bad for, and one he wanted to change._

_To get anywhere though, you had to be influential. He wasn’t now, but he hoped that one day he would be; and being a K-9 handler seemed to be the place to start._

_Ryan let out a sharp whistle, which was responded to by a loud bark and the thundering of feet. Hanging back slightly, the first threads of excitement crawled through him at the German Shepherd that came barreling towards them._

_“Langsam!”_

_The amazement he felt at watching the dog go from full tilt to a more sedate run without hesitation was indescribable. This was exactly what he wanted to do._

_“Pretty impressive, huh?”_

_He looked at Ryan, felt his cheeks warm at the open amusement on the man’s face. “Sorry,” he muttered. “It’s just... really cool.”_

_“Damn right it’s cool,” Ryan laughed. “Why do you think K-9’s are so coveted by all the military factions? Remember Reynolds, not everyone has what it takes to train a working dog, and fewer have the ability to train those dogs to be the best ones out there. That’s why you’re here with me – we’re going to see if you have what it takes.”_

_He nodded. He’d do whatever he had too to be amongst the best._

_“I’d like to introduce you my girl, Sila. Sila, this is Brock – say hello.”_

_Sila yipped, and after first checking with her handler who gave her a nod, she trotted over. Crouching, Brock extended his hand to let her sniff it, and only gave her a scratch behind the ears when she sat and pressed her head into his palm._

_“Well you can consider your first two tests passed with flying colours.” Brock looked up, and found Ryan grinning widely at him. “Knowing how to approach a dog is a big one, as so many people automatically assume they can just pat or handle them without first asking permission; particularly from the dog. The second is actually being permitted to pat her – Sila can be a right diva when she wants to be, can’t you girl?”_

_Sila’s tongue rolled out of her mouth, and her tail thumped against the grass. Evidently she knew she was a diva, and was proud of it._

_Rolling his eyes, Ryan offered him a hand up and led him over to a crate. “The most important thing you need to know about being a handler is that the bond between dog and human must be absolute. Your dog must never have a reason not to trust you, because if they do either you, or they, will wind up dead. Like the trust building exercises they do when you join a new team. The trust you have that your brothers will always have your back? This has to be the same, if not more.” Ryan sat on the crate, extending his prosthetic out in front of him and started massaging his thigh. Sila jumped up next to him immediately, and Brock took a seat on the crate opposite._

_“Sila’s the reason I’m still alive,” Ryan continued, stroking the dog’s ears gently with his free hand. “She ID’d just as I went to open a door – I dived on her; caught all the shrapnel in the leg but she was safe. Then she dragged me down the hall enough for the rest of the squad to take over. She saved me – and I saved her. That’s how this works.”_

_He nodded, his throat tight. Swallowing once, twice, he eventually managed to clear it. “Isn’t putting her with me pointless then? Expecting her to trust a new handler has to be confusing when you’re the one training us.” Sila was now on her back, all four paws in the air and thoroughly enjoying the attention she was being given._

_“She won’t return to full active duty,” Ryan replied quietly. “Unless the previous handler is dead a K-9 won’t be as good in the field because they’ll be expecting their first handler to be there. So you’re right about it being strange for her. Thing is, she won’t immediately follow commands from whoever gives them; which is exactly what we want. She’ll be good to build your foundations with because she doesn’t know you; which means she’ll likely ignore you until you’ve won her over. She knows the commands, you just have to get her to obey them.”_

_Ryan huffed a laugh, tugged his dog a bit closer. “Besides, I wouldn’t cope if they deployed her to an active warzone without me. Small missions aren’t so bad, as there’s more intel involved, and I can oversee what’s going on in case you get into trouble, but the long ones...”_

_“If she can’t return to active service, what will happen to her?”_

_“If your application for K-9’s hadn’t come through when it did, she and I would’ve been retired from service, and she would’ve become a civvie, just like me. Thankfully, the K-9’s are a close-knit group, and the bossman knew that your training would be more in-depth if you had a recently active team to learn with.”_

_Nodding, he was grateful he hadn’t chosen to wait the extra month like he’d been planning. “Well hopefully they see that keeping you guys on is a better option than retiring you,” he said, feeling sad when surprise, then gratitude appeared on the man’s face. Yeah, this attitude of ‘it’s damaged so must be permanently broken’ needed to change. Fast. “Just because you can’t actively serve, doesn’t mean there aren’t other areas you can work in.”_

_“Appreciate that, brother,” Ryan said quietly as he pushed to his feet, squeezing his shoulder when he also stood. “Now then, before we even look at training, you’ve got one more test to go through to see if you have the chops to be a handler.”_

_“Sounds… foreboding.”_

_“Heh. Could be. You ever been in a bite vest before?”_

_Shaking his head, anticipation flared fiercely. He’d seen them in use a few times when he’d come in to talk to the head of the K-9 unit, and couldn’t wait to try one on._

_His companion looked delighted by his answer. “Excellent! Let’s go pop that cherry then!”_

_Facing Ryan who stood opposite him on the other side of the field, Brock shifted his weight like he’d been instructed. Feet apart, half crouch – like you’re bracing to fire a high-powered gun; because the momentum of a dog is like taking on a goddamn freight train!_

_Sila had been watching him intently, but hadn’t shifted since she’d been commanded to stay. His eyes were likely deceiving him, but it looked as though she was vibrating in excitement._

_He was too, if he were honest._

_“You ready Reynolds?” Ryan yelled, and Brock braced a bit harder._

_“Ready!”_

_“SHTELEN!”_

_Ryan hadn’t lied. Sila hit with the force of a train, the power behind her lunge and her jaws as she grabbed him spinning him around -_

_And then she was gone._

_He froze, looking at his arm; confused as to why it was missing the bite sleeve that had covered it mere moments ago. He looked down at himself, his confusion growing further. Why was he in shorts and a t-shirt? What happened to the uniform he was wearing? What the hell?_

_“- promise, you’re doing great, Brock.”_

_He turned, blinking in confusion when it wasn’t Ryan beside him, but Bobby. What? Where’d he come from? He turned, looking for Sila; opened his mouth to call for her – but no sound came out. He tried again. Nadda._

_“Remember kid, Peak’s a Malagator; which means?”_

_“She’s stubborn,” he said, his reply done entirely on autopilot. Then he blanched when he realised he’d spoken. Oh, so now he wanted to talk?_

_“Exactly. Belgian Malanois’ can be stubborn SOB’s until you win them over. If you thought three weeks was a long time to win Sila over, then Peak will feel like forever. I promise you though, you might not see the progress, but I do. You’re doing just fine.”_

_“She just doesn’t listen to me. At all.” Why was he talking? Where the hell did Ryan and Sila go? They were here two seconds ago, and now they weren’t. What was going on? Aaaaand now his eyes were on the dog across the way – it was like he had no control of his body, which made no sense whatsoever. “Peak! Hacke!” Instead of coming to heel like he’d called, the dog jumped onto the climbing logs and stared at him. “See? She does the complete opposite of what I tell her.” What he couldn’t work out was why the hell his lips were being just as disobedient. He wasn’t the one talking, and yet – there was his voice._

_Or... maybe he was actually the one talking? A quick check showed him that nope – his mouth seemed to be glued shut, yet talking was still happening. Why was talking still happening?_

_There was a crash, and a high yelp of pain, and he forgot what he was doing, what he was worrying about – all he knew was that he was at Peak’s side in an instant, muscles and tendons straining dangerously as he lifted the log that had pinned her leg. “Get her out!”_

_“She’s clear!”_

_Dropping the log, he fell to his knees beside her – hands hovering and eyes wide as he looked at the dog that had been in his care. That was now injured. He barely registered the multiple hands on him as other handlers that had been using the training grounds came over to assist – barely registered Bobby’s reassurances to him and Peak that she’d walk it off._

_He could just see Peak; her dark eyes fixed on him – conveying... what? Her gratitude? Her relief? Her pain?_

_It seemed to be all of that, yet none at the same time._

_A blink of those chocolate eyes, and then it wasn’t Peak in front of him, but Cerberus._

_His boy, lying there; surrounded by dust and fire, pinned by a slab of cement, unmoving – his eyes fixed on Brock. The last person he would have seen before the darkness permanently set in._

_He couldn’t breathe. Someone was screaming. Was it him?_

_‘The most important thing you need to know about being a handler is that the bond between dog and human must be absolute.’_

_He’d known that – trusted Cerberus with his life, just like his boy trusted him. And he’d failed him. He’d failed his boy. And now Cerberus was gone because of him._

_Agony tore through him as he tried to reach out, tried to crawl to him to gather him in his arms for one final hug, one final goodbye, but he couldn’t move – the screaming in his ears growing, the pain in his chest blinding hot and burning -_

Choking, Brock jolted his way back to consciousness – aware now that it had been his mind playing tricks on him. 

Or, had it? 

The pain was building, bubbling white hot and molten, his mouth was full of paste which he couldn’t spit out, the shrill screaming in his ears persisting – and it was pitch black. 

He tried to get his mouth to work – couldn’t. He tried to move his arm – it wouldn’t respond. He tried to peer into the darkness, tried to see if there was _anything_ discernable about where he was – but no. Just one solid wall of black. 

Whimpering in frustration and pain, he tried to shift from his position; tried to get free so he could work out what the hell was wrong with him – what had happened. 

But his body couldn’t take it - the pain tearing through him and he promptly passed out again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DPM’s - Disruptive Pattern Material or MCU – Multi-terrain camouflage uniform is how the NZ military refer to their camo gear. In the USA, and from what my google results are turning up, the uniform is specifically through Multicam Uniforms – the camo sleeves with the plain brown chest are called the Men’s Defender Shirt, for anyone that’s interested. It’s the lads go-to on base when not in civvies or full gear. I just called it uniform in Brock’s flashback, but that’s what I’m referring to :) 
> 
> While it might seem strange that the pilot of the helicopter was an Aussie, it's actually not uncommon for heli/fixed wing pilots to work around the world. As long as their license is legal for the country, they're often a hot commodity! I know several pilots who would split their time between New Zealand and Papa New Guinea, and others who worked with the rescue choppers in Canada for a few seasons to get their sling experience before returning to NZ. 
> 
> On that, not every pilot can do what's referred to as slingloading, where they carry gear underneath the helicopter on a long line. It takes a lot of practise, and you'll often see them flying around with their doors open and their heads sticking out as they watch what their lines are doing. It's kind of amusing to see, to me anyway. Like anything, there's a weight limit to what a normal helicopter can lift - so don't expect to see a squirrel helicopter (which is one of the most common ones that do that kind of work) carrying a house around, cause that just ain't gunna happen! Unless it's in pieces, of course :D
> 
> Aus (german) - Off  
> Suchen (german) - Seek  
> Sitz/Sitzen (german) – sit  
> Praten (dutch) – talk  
> Ruhig (German) – quiet  
> Lauf (german) – run  
> Ziel (german) - target  
> Stehlen (german - pronounced Sh-te-len) – steal
> 
> Hacke (german) – heel  
> NOTE! As a lovely reader pointed out last chapter, Germans actually use the word Fuß (run it through google translate, as it sounds like foose). I'm hoping they come back to me with the right way of writing it if doing so in English - simply because we don't use the ß letter/symbol. So while I won't change it for this story, I will use the correct term for future ones. They've also noted a couple of other grammatical errors for some of the translations, so for anyone wanting to write commands for Cerb, have a read of their comment in the previous chapter if you want to get it as authentic as you can!! :D
> 
> Just cause I don't think I've put this here yet, either:
> 
> Delta 
> 
> 1 - Troy Banks - Master Chief   
> 2 - Sam Stone - Senior Chief - munitions and demolitions  
> 3 – Tim Death (medic) aka Dr Death   
> 4 – Roy Bins and Ryder - dog handler   
> 5 – Kit Wilson - sniper   
> 6 – Reece Ramirez – sniper 
> 
> Bravo 
> 
> 1 – Jason Hayes - Senior Chief  
> 2 – Ray Perry - Master Chief - sniper  
> 3 – Sonny Quinn - Munitions?  
> 4 – Trent Sawyer (Medic)   
> 5 – Brock Reynolds and Cerberus - K9  
> 6 – Clay Spenser - Sniper
> 
> Alpha 
> 
> 1 – Scott ‘Full Metal’ Carter - Senior Chief(?)  
> 2 – Lochy Hollier - sniper   
> 3 – Jacob Reed – demolitions  
> 4 – Richie Cane + Ruby – dog handler   
> 5 – Alex Lang - medic   
> 6 – Tom O'Neill – greenie and munitions


	9. Marco Polo

**A/N: Hello all! Well, aren't we happy Cerb's okay, because it means he can find his wayward father! Hooray!**

**I... don't know what else to say about this chapter, other than... enjoy? Screech at me below, I love hearing what you guys think!**

**I must admit, your comments and enthusiasm for this story is utterly amazing! Honestly, I sit here grinning like a lunatic whenever I get a notification about a review! My workload has increased to the point I'm now doing two, if not three fulltime employee roles in my part time position, and... let's just say today wasn't the best day. I find out next Sunday if I still have a job on the 16th or not - so it'll be interesting to see what happens!**

**Where I was going with that, is that you guys are amazing, and the reason I make sure that I get time to write because it's one of the few things that's helping me keep hold of my sanity right now.**

**So, from the person who's very nearly three fries short of a happy meal, thank you!! (kudos to anyone who spotted the Stargate reference in that description XD )**

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* * *

By the time they’d slung most of the large chunks of debris clear, Alpha had located and uncovered Jackson; the third EOD that Delta had taken with them. 

Troy Banks. Reece Ramirez. Kit Wilson. Summer Kairos. Brock… 

Ray exhaled slowly, repeated the list in his head of those yet to be recovered as he stepped back; watched as the heli rose, the sling going taught before finally lifting the slab of concrete free. 

Four brothers, one sister accounted for. Five to go. 

“-ay? Ray!” 

Blinking, he turned to Jason who was looking at him expectantly. “I’m with you.” 

“Good, get over here.” 

He picked his way around the iron and concrete sticking up which way, set his feet down carefully one after another so he didn’t go hurtling to the side on a loose piece of debris. Just as he got close to Jason, the radio crackled to life. 

_“All call signs, this is TOC.”_

The barely concealed grief in Flynn’s voice brought everyone grinding to a halt. Ray didn’t remember taking a knee, only that he was suddenly there. There was one of two things it could be – he had no idea which one he preferred, because neither were remotely acceptable an outcome, and yet one was about to occur. 

_“Fallen Eagle. I… I say again… fallen…fallen Eagle.”_

“Shit,” he breathed, bowing his head. “ _Shit._ ” 

Jason’s hand clamped tightly on his shoulder, to ground who – Ray had no idea. He could hear his brother open and close his mouth; fighting to get the words out, but no sound came. 

“Sam?” That was Clay – Ray looked over, saw anger and grief warring for dominance in his eyes. The kid had a heart of gold, and was far more empathetic than he let on. Adam’s death had shown him that.

That heart of gold meant that even though he didn’t know Sam as well as he and Jason, the loss of a brother would shake him for days to come. 

_“He coded on the table five minutes ago; they couldn’t save him.”_

“Copy TOC,” Clay muttered. “Thanks for the heads up.” 

There was a furious curse to their left, followed by the clatter of something that was thrown. A quick glance over his shoulder showed the silhouettes of Alpha – the half of the squad that hadn’t carried the EOD to Danny at the helo site – with their heads down, shoulders slumped. 

“Save it for later boys,” Jason muttered. He looked up, saw his friend looking at their group while his fingers activated his radio. His message for both teams to get their heads on straight. “The only thing we can do for Sam now is bring his brothers home.” 

_“Copy that,”_ Scott replied, sounding tired. _“Coming to you.”_

“Roger.” Jason crouched down, eased himself into the hole that they’d cleared before looking up at them. “Let’s do this.” 

Sharing a brief look with Clay and Trent, he nodded and eased himself forwards to join Jason. With Clay and Trent remaining above to grab whatever they were handed, they made quick, but silent, work of removing the debris. 

They eventually uncovered Troy’s leg. 

“We got him!” Ray told the pair above them when he found dirtied camo pants beneath crumbled concrete. Relief coursed through him at the fact they were about to bring another brother home. Six found, four to go. 

Of course, Clay then had to bring his elation crashing back down to reality with his quiet question. “All of him, or part of him?” 

Ray looked at him incredulously. “Seriously, Spense?” What the hell kind of question was that?! 

Clay also looked shocked – evidently he hadn’t expected to say that out loud, and was now reddening in embarrassment. “Sorry, just… I think TOCs report has thrown me more than I thought it would.” 

“You need to get your head in the game, little brother. We’ve still got people counting on us – now’s not the time to get lost in those thoughts.” 

Clay bit his lip, nodded once. “Copy that.” 

Satisfied, Ray helped Jason shift what easily came away – left whatever didn’t. They’d deal with it shortly. Thankfully, what remained was light enough for them to move without a helicopter, and eventually it was just one large rod of iron that was jammed diagonally against Troy’s back which would be dealt with separately. They started freeing his legs next, and it was as Jason went to grab the iron bar they uncovered on Troy’s thigh that Trent yelled at them to stop. 

Hands up, he and Jason froze as Trent circled around so he was closer to Jason’s side. 

“Jase, swap,” Trent ordered. 

Raising a hand higher, Trent and Clay helped their boss out of the hole, before Trent slid into it; his fingers trailing the bar. 

The medic grimaced. “Rebar has gone straight in,” he told them. Ray looked closer, and discovered that the rod that had seemed straight had previously been part of a square, with one side snapped off and the other not visible because of where it was. “We’ll have to move this carefully. Clay, grab the quickie saw.” 

Clay disappeared from sight as he made his way to the small pile of gear they’d set down when they started digging, appearing moments later with the saw in hand. 

Reaching up, Ray took it off him so Trent could continue his examinations. “How deep do you think it is?” he asked the medic. The darker material of Troy’s pants was undoubtedly hiding just how much blood had been lost, but he prayed the rebar kept it plugged enough that he wouldn’t suddenly bleed out when they moved him. 

Trent lowered himself closer to the ground, lifting the edge of Troy’s pants and wiggling his fingers underneath. “It doesn’t feel like a through and through,” he said after a moment. “But I can feel something there, so it’s pretty close.” 

He winced. The iron bar wasn’t exactly small, and to pierce through that much muscle… there was a very good chance Troy’s days as Delta 1 had just come to an end. “How do you want to do this?” 

“Trent? You need a hand?” 

He looked up, found Alpha nearly with them – Lang already crouched at the edge and ready to jump in if needed. 

“Yeah Alex,” Trent replied. “Get in here. Ray, you stay,” the medic added when he went to climb out, thinking he was no longer required now that the other medic had arrived. 

“Copy. How do you want to do this?” 

“You’re gunna run the saw,” Trent replied. “Lochy, get in here too – you and Alex are gunna hold this rod as Ray cuts it here, and here.” He nodded when the medic indicated the spots either side of the downed SEAL they were going to free. “Once it’s clear, Alex and I can check him over properly.” 

“You got it, T,” he replied. “Let’s do this.” 

Cutting through the iron didn’t take long at all, and after Trent had confirmed that the bigger rod was trapped by the surrounding rubble, they cut that too. 

It had taken his and Hollier’s combined efforts to get the bigger piece of iron up and off their brother, so he could only begin to imagine what damage it had caused when it landed on Troy’s back. The man would be aching for quite a while. 

“Alright,” Trent said from where he and Alex were inspecting Troy’s thigh. They’d already confirmed he still had a pulse, and were bandaging around the injury to ensure he kept it. “Unbury the rest of him and we’ll get him to Danny.” 

“Copy that. Let’s go Loch.” 

With all the prior work they’d done, it was just Troy’s upper torso and arms that remained under the rubble; the SEAL had landed face first and sprawled from where the explosion knocked him off his feet. The slab of concrete that was currently resting across his upper shoulders and – yup, a quick check confirmed it was also over his helmet – made Ray infinitely grateful the military spared no expense to ensure their operators safety. 

As they worked, he could hear Clay and Richie encouraging the dogs to continue searching, and Jason was talking with HAVOC via Flynn, but his attention wasn’t focused on him enough to really hear what he was saying; instead it was on clearing whatever had Troy’s hand trapped. 

“Damn, it’s wedged in there,” Lochy whistled lowly, huffing when they couldn’t slide his hand free. “This fucking concrete has got it trapped real good.” 

Ray felt around the top of the slab and confirmed that it wasn’t pinned by anything else, before wiggling his fingers underneath it to see how much room they had to work with. 

He froze when he brushed up against something unexpected. 

Lochy noticed immediately. “Ray? What is it?” 

He was aware of multiple sets of eyes suddenly on him. He swallowed harshly. “We gotta lift this slab. Now.” 

Lochy frowned, but did as instructed – shuffling over to give Jason and Metal room when they slid in to help. Between the four of them they lifted the debris free, handing it off to Reed and O’Neil who had since rejoined them. 

It wasn’t just the concrete that had kept Troy’s arm jammed, it was also the fact that his hand was trapped underneath the arm of whatever brother he’d been pulling along. 

He fell back, the shock of finding another brother so unexpected it knocked him for six and stole his breath away. 

“TOC, this is Bravo 1.” 

He looked at Jason, saw the hard clench of his jaw as he stared at the evidence before him. He slid his glove off, shuddering slightly as the material covering his fingers dragged over his other palm, just as it had over his currently unknown brother’s beneath the rubble, and slid that glove free to check for a pulse. 

_“Go ahead 1.”_

He bowed his head, gave the limp wrist a gentle squeeze. 

“Fallen Eagle,” Jason replied quietly. 

The silence that fell was too much to bear. Another brother gone because of a needless act of violence. “For I do not bear the sword in vain,” he whispered, refusing to look anywhere but at the hand cradled in his own. “For my God has commanded me, to be strong, and courageous. Do not be afraid, nor discouraged. For the lord your God shall be with you, wherever you go.” 

_“…Troy?”_

“Whoever was with him,” Jason replied. “We have a second SEAL here. Not sure who.” 

_“Fuck.”_ Flynn’s distress was evident in the way his voice broke. _“Ramirez.”_

Nobody moved, each of them taking a moment to remember their little brother, just as they had for Sam. Ramirez was young, but had shown so much potential; absorbing everything he’d learned like a sponge and always eager for more. 

Sam had been his mentor, had taken the young sniper under his wing, and Ray prayed that they’d continue to run together in heaven as they waited for the rest of their team to one day rejoin them. 

“We need to get Troy outta here.” 

Trent’s soft words cut through the fog that had descended on them, and he turned to the medic, saw how tired he looked and knew that his brother was right. 

Ramirez was gone, Troy was not. They had to prioritize the living over the dead. 

* * *

A backboard was brought in, and Troy was loaded up – handed straight to Danny and the medics that had picked their way through the rubble to join them. 

With Delta 1 suddenly out of their hands, they made quick work of freeing Ramirez - an unspoken vote confirming no one wanted to leave him where he was. He deserved to be with his team when they left, not abandoned to the authorities to be reclaimed at a later date. 

As it turned out, shrapnel from the explosion had torn through his left side, severing arteries in his leg and neck which caused him to bleed out within moments. Trent and Alex confirmed that even if they’d been there when it happened, nothing could’ve been done to save him. 

Lochy, Jake and Tom had all volunteered to carry the board back to Flynn’s van while the others continued searching, which was just as well because Ruby soon found another survivor; whining lowly as she started to dig. 

Leaving Richie and Ruby to coordinate with the others, Clay made his way further across the rubble; moving on autopilot as Cerb ID’d spots where there were likely bodies. 

His mind kept coming back to two questions as he walked around the vast expanse of ruins. 

How had this happened? 

_Why_ had this happened? 

Why did people think it was okay to take the lives of others to make a statement? They were innocent – going about their day, enjoying their lives, and in an instant, they’d be nothing more than a link to an act of terror. A faded memory as time remembered them as nothing more than an unfortunate statistic. 

It wasn’t fair. 

Cerberus pawed at the ground, whining slightly before moving on. He marked it with the yellow paint and followed. 

Find, tag, repeat. It was all he was good for right now, all he could do until he found the brothers that were still missing. 

_“TOC, Alpha 1.”_

He jolted out of his musings when his radio crackled to life and looked over his shoulder – then suddenly realised just how far away he was from the rest of the team. He also realised how unstable the area around him was. He could get into trouble if he wasn’t careful. 

“Hacke,” he said, bringing Cerberus close when the dog tried to tug him forward. If he kept it up, Clay knew he’d end up with a rolled ankle at the very least. “Cerb, Hacke!” 

Listening in with half an ear to Metal’s message – which was that they needed a chopper as they’d found Kairos, thank God - he looked around to try and find the safest way to the more stable looking debris to his left. 

Cerberus had other plans, whining and straining at his lead as he tried to pull Clay forward. 

“Cerberus, hacke!” 

There was a groan not two feet in front of him. 

Abandoning the thought of getting to safety, he crept forwards – elated at the fact they’d found someone. 

“This is the US Navy,” he said aloud, grimacing when the sheet of metal he was standing on moved under his feet. “I’m here to help. Don’t move; I’m coming to you because this area is unstable, just hang tight.” 

There was another groan, and the rubble in front of him shifted slightly. Clay could just make out a counter of some kind, which sent his heart racing – Flynn had said Kit Wilson had been pushed near a counter! 

“Wilson? That you? Hang tight man.” 

The rubble near the counter raised up, the person apparently getting themselves free; which was a damned good effort considering just how much debris there was on top of them. 

It wasn’t Wilson. It wasn’t a civilian either. 

He registered the bloodied face first. Registered the gun second. Registered the gunshot as he threw himself backwards and drew his sidearm. 

He registered Cerb barking madly when the bullet buried itself in his shoulder as he returned fire. 

The man dropped, a bullet in his head. Pain erupted, burning bright. “Ah, fuck,” he groaned, holstering his sidearm so he could clamp his hand over the wound. “Fuck.” 

_“-AY! GODDAMN IT CLAY, TALK TO ME!”_

“I’m here,” he replied. Turning, he could see Bravo hotfooting their way to him. Oh boy. “Uncovered a live tango – took care of it.” 

“ _You hurt?”_

“Took a round to the shoulder. I’m all good though.” 

_“Goddamn it, Danny. This is your fault!”_ Trent growled. It took him a second to work out what the medic was referring too, then hung his head when he remembered. Trent was never going to let him live this down. 

_“Fair call,”_ Danny replied, and Clay could just imagine the Olympic level eye roll the supposedly jinxing medic had done. 

Cerberus was whining quietly and nosing at his hand; tail between his legs and looking at Clay sadly. “Its okay buddy,” he reassured the Malagator, giving him a hug with his good arm. “This isn’t your fault, promise.” 

A wet nose dragged along his cheek. Cerberus continued to whine. Oh boy, now he’d managed to upset Cerb, too; he really wouldn’t live this down. 

Shushing him, Clay sat there with one hand clamped against his shoulder and the other petting the K-9 as he waited for Bravo to arrive. 

Trent got there first. 

“Anytime we have a mission that they think Danny will be required, I’m grounding you I swear to god,” Trent grumbled as he stomped over. “This is getting fucking ridiculous.” 

“It’s not my fault,” he protested weakly. “How was I supposed to know we could still be attacked?” 

Trent grumbled something too quiet for Clay to hear. Despite himself, he laughed. “C’mon T, you can’t blame me.” 

“I bloody well will blame you,” Trent retorted, pushing his hand aside so he could inspect the injury. “You and Brock are goddamn trouble magnets and will force me into an early retirement.” 

The medic poked the newly acquired hole, and he winced. Cerberus whined for him. “This might shock you, but that hurts. Be gentle, would you?” 

Trent just glared at him. He bit his tongue in acquiescence. But then the medic poked it again, and he couldn’t help himself. 

“Your bedside manner is terrible.” 

Trent clipped him over the head harder than Clay believed was necessary. “Ow!” 

“There, now you have two injuries to sook over.” 

“He giving you trouble, Trent?” 

“When doesn’t he?” 

Clay pouted when Jason and Ray both snickered. Damn, but he hated being the youngest sometimes. 

“He all good?” 

Trent grunted as he started wrapping his shoulder tightly. “Bullet’s still in there, but I’m not going to remove it until I can get him to a more sterile environment.” 

Jason pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I’ll get Flynn to organise ground transport to get him to the hospital.” 

“What? No!” he protested. No way in hell was he going anywhere while Brock was still MIA. “I can still help!” 

“Clay, we know you want to help, but you need to get that looked at,” Ray countered, his voice gentle which frustrated him even more. “You don’t want to make it worse.” 

“I don’t need both arms to handle Cerberus,” he argued. “Give me a sling, strap it so it’s immobile, I don’t care – I’m not leaving until Brock and Wilson are found.” 

Jason stared at him long and hard, and he refused to break eye contact. 

“Trent?” Jason said eventually. “Your call.” 

His staring match was now with Trent. The medic narrowed his eyes, and huffed. 

“I don’t think there’ll be any long term damage if he waits,” Trent said eventually. “It’s not bleeding heavily, and it means we don’t have to worry about trying to control Cerb while we search. Plus, Spense is the better one to handle him after Brock.” 

“If that changes, you’re outta here,” Jason warned, The Puckered Face of Doom™ – the circumstantially different expression to The Eyebrows of Disappointment™ - making an appearance. Clay winced. He knew shit was serious if Jason dived straight into that one, bypassing the Eyebrows completely. Brock would be elated he’d achieved it, were he there to see it. “I don’t need another member of Bravo to worry about today.” 

“Copy that,” he replied, sagging in relief. He never would’ve forgiven himself if he had to be sidelined when Brock was still missing. “Gimme a hand up, would ya.” 

* * *

Once again mobile, the team continued picking their way across the debris; Jason getting a course correction that steered them closer to the missing SEALs when they realised they had no idea what part of the airport they were now standing on. 

Jake had sent a photo of the tango Clay had killed to TOC, once Alpha had rejoined them, and Flynn had told them that it was the one Brock had managed to take alive. He’d obviously broken free of his bindings and found a gun – but what frustrated Flynn more was that they no longer had anyone to interrogate. 

No one in either of the two teams were particularly bothered by that. If anyone would find answers, it was Mandy – and they knew full well she’d already be onto it. 

As they got closer to what remained of the plane, Cerberus and Ruby started whining – pulling their handlers in opposite directions. 

“TOC, Bravo 4.” 

_“Receiving 4.”_

“We may have located our last two SEALs,” Trent said, sticking close to Clay as the blond started scanning the area ahead. “Have the heli’s on standby, and send Danny our way; he’s likely going to be needed.” 

_“Copy all, Bravo 4,”_ Flynn replied. “ _We’ll standby for your go. Danny’s already en-route.”_

“Roger that.” He peered over Clay’s shoulder, stamped down his irritation when no heat signatures appeared. Of course finding his best friend couldn’t be easy. 

“This can’t be Brock and Wilson, surely,” Ray muttered, shrugging when Trent looked at him questioningly. “Well, Flynn said that they’d been close together when the bombs went off; but there’s a fair bit of distance between them now, if it is them.”

“The force of the blast woulda knocked everyone off their feet,” Jason replied. “Ramirez wasn’t meant to be near Troy like he was, but they were together, and Flynn did say he lost the feeds pretty quickly, so we can’t expect the information to be completely accurate.”

“Expect the unexpected,” Clay quipped, side stepping a large slab of concrete that Cerberus was paying a great deal of attention to. They all paused, waited to see what the dog had. Nothing, apparently, but he was pulling at his lead harder, so he had the scent of something. “We’re SEALs, remember Ray.”

“Oh yeah, like you getting shot, aye Clay.”

Clay gave him the stink eye. “Shuddup Trent.”

He looked at his brother pointedly, and had to bite his lip to keep from laughing when the blond grunted and stomped after Cerberus. Things felt almost… normal. If one excluded the fact they were standing in what probably resembled a crater, and neither Brock nor Sonny were with them.

Cerberus paused, his nose twitching like crazy as he made a beeline forward, and they all hurried to keep up. He paused, then he went ballistic. 

Barking and whining, the Malagator all but pulled Clay off his feet as he suddenly surged forward; a fancy bit of footwork and a quick change of hands for the IR scanner the only reason Clay stayed upright. 

There was only one person that would get Cerberus to react like that. 

“Brock! Brock, if you can hear us, just hang tight!” he yelled, vaguely aware of Jason and Ray falling into line beside him and Clay as they followed the frantic K-9. “We’re coming to get you!” 

“Brock, if you can hear us brother, say something!” Ray added. “We need to pinpoint you, but there’s a lot of debris!” 

If Brock replied, they couldn’t hear him; Cerberus making far too much noise despite Clay’s commands to shush. However, if Brock did reply, then Cerberus would be the one to hear him so it didn’t matter too much anyway. 

Cerberus kept tugging them forward, and Trent made a note to check his stitches when he had a chance. With the way the Malagator was straining at the lead, one would think he hadn’t been injured – but he had been, so he needed to make sure the energetic pup didn’t make them worse. 

Jason and Ray continued to call for their missing brother, while he continued to run the scanner over the rubble and Clay focused on controlling their dog. 

His scanner detected a heat signature the same time Cerberus lunged forward, barking madly. “Brock!” He hurried closer, heart racing at the heat signature that flared to life on the scanner. “Brock, we’re here!” 

There was no response, but he didn’t let that deter him. Clearing an area with Jason’s help, Trent lay down and pulled out his torch – moving the beam of light slowly as he tried to pinpoint Brock, but couldn’t. 

“Fuck,” he muttered. “It’s a damn mess, I can’t see anything,” he told the trio who were gathered around. “TOC, Bravo 4. We need a helo.” 

_“TOC, Alpha 3 – send a second helo; we’ve got Wilson.”_

_“Copy all,_ ” Flynn replied. _“Choppers are on the way, standby.”_

“ _I’ll be there in two mikes_ ,” Danny added, and a look over his shoulder showed the medic slowly making his way towards them. “ _You boys laid eyes on them yet?”_

_“A-firm,”_ Reed replied. _“We can just make Wilson out - he’s not moving though._ ” 

_“Copy. Sawyer?”_

“Negative for Reynolds,” he said. “Too much debris in the way for a clear line of sight.” 

“ _Roger. See you soon._ ” 

There was the thump of rotors, and Trent joined Ray and Jason who were busy inspecting the large slab of concrete that was at the top of the pile. 

“-the sling around it,” Ray was saying. “But it’s got rebar through it, so we’ll have to make sure he lifts slowly so we can make sure it doesn’t snag on anything.” 

“Trent, standby with the saw,” Jason said, and he nodded. “You may have to cut things as you go along.” 

He could do that. “Copy.” 

“Clay?” 

The blond looked up from where he was straining to keep Cerberus next to him. “Yeah boss?” 

“Move further back so Cerb isn’t in the rotor-wash, and you can help guide the helo when he lifts as we’ll be directly underneath.” 

“Roger.” 

“Alright,” Jason said, his face set in a steely determination. “Let’s bring our boy home.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ray’s prayer, from what Google tells me, is a derivative from the Book of Joshua 1:9(?) – as those who’ve had a religious upbringing may be able to tell, I did not – so I've probably just butchered its origins in these notes – sorry! Anywho, this is the prayer (hymn? IDK) that Ray says in the showers after Adam dies. Considering the similarities, it felt appropriate to put in here. 


	10. Helping Hands To Guide You

**A/N: Oooooh hey home-fries! Have we all recovered from that little bombshell from last chapter? Yes? Excellent. No? Sucks to be you, because I'm going to play with your emotions again. Woot!**

**No, I'm not drunk, yes, I'm semi-tired (10:49pm NZST here) and I'm off to bed once I fulfill my weekly need to entertain you all :D**

**Hope you all enjoy, and as always, come screech at me in the comments!**

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* * *

Price set the phone down and hung his head, sighing heavily. God, but he felt every one of his years sometimes. 

Looking at the monitors, he dialed up the volume on his headset so he could continue listening in to his own team, eyes flicking between screens as he watched them mop up what remained, secured the scene of their still standing airport. 

Thanks to Delta’s K-9 handler, they’d chosen to disregard all the previous intel which, while one would presume it’d make their lives harder, actually made the job a lot easier. Without anything to guide them, no stone had been left unturned, which meant that they’d found the bombs almost immediately. 

And as it turned out, they weren’t just in the roof. 

They’d located bombs in bins, inside check-in counters, underneath seats, escalators, the lifts… the sheer number they’d found had been mind-boggling, and alarming. How they’d been placed - considering Heathrow never stopped - was beyond him; and it had undoubtedly caused an uproar amongst all their intelligence agencies, but getting answers was a job for MI5, MI6 and the CIA. _Not_ the SAS. 

All that mattered to him was that the attack had been stopped before they even had the chance to carry it out, the few gunmen that had been present arrested or dead, and the area secured; all thanks to their American counterparts. 

_“Ghost, how’s that southern end looking?”_

Shaking himself from his thoughts when the question crackled over his comms, he couldn’t help the swell of pride that rose at how well Soap had coordinated his teams. The kid had gone from being the F.N.G, fresh out of selection and not yet wet behind the ears, to one of the most skilled, competent and ruthless men he’d ever had the pleasure of knowing. He’d also become one of his closest friends, and someone he’d give his life for in a heartbeat. 

_“All good sir,”_ Ghost replied, and that was another man Price had grown close to – one that reminded him so much of Gaz, of the best friend whose life had been cut short five years ago during the cluster fuck of a mission they’d been on in Uzbekistan, and someone whose presence he still missed keenly. Ghost and Gaz - so similar, yet entirely different. _“Roach and I are just sweeping through with the K-9’s again, but looks like we’re in the clear.”_

Hearing the relaxed way the boys talked, he was grateful that they were able to do so, that friendship and brotherhood hadn’t been torn apart today.

Tragically, the same couldn’t be said for their Delta counterparts.

“Soap, Command.” 

_“Go ahead, old man.”_

He rolled his eyes. Cheeky bastard would pay for that later. “I wanted you to hear it from me first. Leaf just called; we’ve got two Fallen Eagles.” 

The monitors, which had been filled with movement as his men did their job, went still. 

_“Shite,”_ Soap muttered, and through Dodger’s camera he could see his friend’s grieved expression. “ _He say who?”_

“Stone and Ramirez,” he replied, checking his notes. While it was only two so far, the injuries the rest had sustained meant more could potentially follow. “Troy’s alive but critical, and it sounds like the others aren’t looking too good either. They’re still trying to locate the last two.” 

“ _Bugger. Copy all, Price; thanks for the heads up. Alright lads, let’s finish this - MI5 are en-route to collect the bodies; let’s make sure there’s nothing else waiting for us and go home.”_

Flicking off his mic, he exhaled heavily and pulled out his phone. As hard a bastard as Soap was, he also cared deeply for his friends - which meant that while the rest of the squads would be de-jocking, he’d be boarding the next flight to be with the friend that circumstances had forced him to abandon. 

Assuming, of course, that they’d actually be able to board a flight at all, considering the attempt on Heathrow. He’d already been advised that some nearby airports were suspending travel, and MI-5 were scrambling to keep up with panicked government officials who were screaming for all air travel to be cancelled until those responsible were officially caught. 

Basically, it sounded like a shit-show in the making, and considering the current state of Tenerife, he couldn’t blame them. 

He pulled up his contact list. Maybe Nikolai was free to give them a lift. 

* * *

Two slabs of concrete, a pillar and a large support beam from the roof later, Bravo converged on the semi-cleared area – all moving carefully so they didn’t send more rubble into the hole they’d just made. 

The hole that they could now confirm Brock was in the middle of. 

From what they could see, which wasn’t a hell of a lot, Brock was face down, and unmoving. His helmet was missing, and likely somewhere buried underneath all the crap that surrounded him. He didn’t respond to their calls, nor to Cerb’s barks – which meant he was undoubtedly unconscious. 

Despite the worry it caused, Trent was grateful his friend wasn’t awake. The thought of the pain and fear he could be in was enough to make his skin crawl, and anything he could be spared was a blessing in disguise. 

Even though the helicopter had lifted a good portion of the debris away, Brock was still pinned by large chunks of concrete and at least two large iron bars – not to mention whatever was behind the slab that was hiding their view of his lower half. There’d be broken bones for the K-9 handler at the least, and Trent prayed that that would be the extent of the damage. Hope and prayers hadn’t served him so far today, but perhaps with Brock it would be different. 

Pulling the sensor from his pocket, he aimed it at Brock; needed confirmation that his friend’s heat signature was still strong, and not suddenly cooling in the way of the recently deceased. 

Brock shone brightly on the scanner. He was still with them. 

“Okay,” he muttered, picking his way through the rubble to the bigger parts that kept Brock caged, Jason and Ray just behind him. “One piece at a time.” 

Forming a line, he started pulling pieces away, handing them to Jason, who passed it to Ray. Lochy joined them not long after they started, and together the four of them slowly but surely removed the debris that remained. 

The more they cleared, the closer he got to Brock – and the worse his friend looked. A curse slipped free when he realised one of the bits of rebar from the roof had pierced Brock’s side, and he had to physically restrain Jason when the man charged forward to investigate for himself. “Christ, just – back off a sec, Jase,” he ordered, glaring at the MC and ignoring his frustrated huff as he thumbed his radio on. “Danny, you free?” 

_“Just in the middle of something,”_ Danny replied a second later. “ _What’ve you got?”_

“Rebar in Brock’s right side. Not sure if it’s a through and through – just establishing that now.” 

_“Copy that. Wilson needs a neck brace, so I’m just getting that sorted and checking him for other injuries. I’ll be there shortly.”_

“Roger.” 

Releasing the mic, and glaring at Jason until the man backed off, he carefully made his way to Brock’s side, circling slowly as he examined the remaining ruins. From what he could see, which was still only his top half, Brock was in pretty dire straits. His uniform was torn to shreds, and the skin that was exposed was slick with blood. His left arm looked to be at a funny angle, and he suspected his collarbone was broken as well. 

“Shit Brock, you look like hell,” he muttered, crouching next to him. The slight turn of Brock’s face showed it was caked in so much blood and dust that he couldn’t even make out the man’s eyelashes. 

He leaned closer in order to see if there was any obvious trauma to Brock’s neck or head, beyond the few lacerations he could see, when he heard soft, stuttering gasping. 

Panic gripped him, but he fought it back; tried to look at the situation clearly without making any hasty decisions that could hurt his friend even more. Brock’s face was covered in dust, which meant… he inspected his face and saw that his friend had what appeared to be a thick paste in his mouth, and his nose was clogged too. No wonder he couldn’t breathe properly. 

Placing a hand beside Brock to better brace himself, he swept two fingers through the gunk to remove it – and was certain he jumped a foot in the air when Brock suddenly jerked away from him. 

“Brock!” But his friend didn’t reply, just continued to moan in pain as he tried desperately to get away. The rebar and his trapped legs kept Bravo 5 pinned, but neither deterred the handler’s efforts; as Brock’s medic, and as his best friend, that scared him. 

If he didn’t stop moving, he could do irreparable damage, or make himself bleed out. Both just as likely outcomes, and both just as terrifying. 

Hands hovering, he didn’t want to frighten Brock further, but he didn’t know what to do to get through to him. If Brock refused to listen to him, then - eyes widening in understanding, Trent cursed when he realised the source of the blood on the side of Brock’s head wasn’t just from the lacerations as he’d first assumed. 

“ – isn’t he responding? Trent?” 

“His eardrums must’ve ruptured,” he replied, suddenly aware of how close the others were. Unable to hear, Brock would fight any effort they made to help him until he knew who they were, which meant: “Clay, bring Cerb here.” 

Clay was on the move before he finished talking, and soon Cerberus was nosing at Brock’s head, whining softly. 

Rather than relax, however, Cerberus’ presence only seemed to stress Brock more – the handler feeling around with his good hand until he found Cerb’s harness and promptly tried to pull the dog behind him. 

“What’s he doing?” Ray asked, his face drawn with worry. “Trent?” 

“He’s trying to protect Cerberus,” Clay told them, eyes wide. He’d followed Brock’s movements so the Malagator’s wounds weren’t put under any stress by accident, and the canine was now snuggled against his handler’s side, ignoring Brock’s attempts to push him further back. “He thinks we’re hostiles.” 

Shit. With his friend unable to see or hear, there was only one way he knew of to get him to calm down. Grabbing Brock’s good hand, and gritting his teeth in regret when it only panicked his friend more, he grabbed his glove and pulled it free, before gripping Brock’s bare hand with his own gloved one. 

Brock went completely still. He was panting heavily, his mouth not yet entirely clear of dust - which he needed to sort quickly - but his face was pointed directly at their clasped hands. 

A relieved smile tugged at his mouth. As he’d hoped, Brock recognised the material pressed against his palm. Raising his free hand, he told his brothers to remove his glove for him. He wasn’t about to break this contact - not now, when Brock was calm enough to avoid hurting himself further. 

Ray did as asked, and he moved their clasped hands so that he was cradling Brock’s palm-side up. With his now exposed finger, he wrote the letter B on Brock’s palm, then tapped it four times. 

Brock tilted his head, the slight furrowing of his eyebrows dislodging a small puff of dust. “That’s it Brock,” he murmured, stroking his thumb lightly against the bare flesh to reiterate that he wasn’t the enemy. “It’s me.” He repeated the movement – drew the B slowly before tapping his palm four times. “Come on brother.” 

“Tr’n?” 

His name was said in a hoarse whisper, a cloud of dust billowing out when he spoke; a bigger one following it when the single word made him cough harshly. 

Tears stung his eyes. He squeezed Brock’s hand tight, blinked them away. “Yeah bud, it’s me.” He knew Brock couldn’t hear him, but he couldn’t help replying. Keeping their hands clasped, he moved his gloved one to Brock’s face and tapped beside his mouth in warning, before sweeping his fingers through again to clear what he could. 

The trust Brock had in him was humbling. The moment he’d established he was safe, Brock sagged completely against the ground and just… let him do what he needed. No flinching, no tensing – he just lay there pliant; his trust fierce and absolute. 

Someone nudged his shoulder with a canteen, and after guiding Brock’s hand to his sleeve so he could hold on he took it – pouring water on his gloved fingers so he could use the moisture to catch whatever he missed, before setting the rim of the bottle against Brock’s lips. 

Automatically, Brock did the rinse and spit twice before he took a small mouthful of water, and tried to clear his throat, which he did with a minimal amount of coughing. “Trent,” he said eventually, his voice unable to get past a hoarse rasp. “Why can’t I hear or see you?” 

The fingers that had been tangled in his sleeve had made their way to his wrist, and he wasn’t about to deny his best friend the contact he so clearly sought. Clasping Brock’s hand in his bare one, he pressed his other hand against Brock’s ears, one at a time, and the handler grimaced. “Blown eardrums?” 

He squeezed his hand in confirmation, before moving his hand to Brock’s cheek and brushed it once, before moving to his jaw and nudging it so he closed his mouth, Brock following the silent command without hesitation. 

He looked over his shoulder, resolutely ignored the red eyes he was met with. Seeing Brock the way he was, was clearly painful for his brothers - but Brock needed them to be strong, so they’d have to put their feelings aside for now. “Jase, I need you to slowly pour water on his face. Lochy, grab a cloth from my bag. Let’s clean him up.” 

Both men did as asked, moving carefully so as to not disturb any of the more precariously sitting wreckage. Jason crouched next to him and grabbed the canteen, and at his nod, slowly tipped the water onto Brock’s forehead. 

Brock flinched slightly, but otherwise didn’t move, and Trent carefully sponged the dust from his friend’s face – grimacing at the deep cuts that littered the slowly revealed skin. Movement plus a muttered curse announced Danny’s arrival, and soon the medic was kneeling next to him. 

“How’re you doing, Brock?” Danny asked quietly, swapping the cloth over when Trent’s became too soiled to be of use. “Hanging in there okay?” 

“His eardrums are blown,” Trent told him, nodding when the medic cursed. “It’s going to make it a bit harder to find out what he’s feeling, but he’ll be able to communicate when he can see us. How’s Wilson?” 

“Alive and en-route to the rescue chopper,” was all Danny said, before pressing two fingers against Brock’s neck to check his pulse. “I don’t like how pale he is.” 

Shit. He’d hoped it had been a trick of the light, but the more skin that was revealed, the more he realised just how clammy Brock looked. “Internal bleeding?” 

“Possibly. Ray, Lochy – you two get started on clearing his legs; mind that piece of rebar in his side. I don’t want it moving unnecessarily. Even if you can’t lift it all, we need to know what we’re working with.” 

The two seconds nodded and inched past their small group to do as they’d been instructed. After the third cloth, Brock’s face was finally clean. Smiling, Trent leaned closer so his friend didn’t have to strain his neck trying to look at him. Then his stomach sank. 

Brock was looking his direction, but his eyes were unseeing – his pupils blown completely wide. 

“Shit.” Danny nearly ripped his pen light from his pocket in his hurry, having seen the issue the same time as him, and shone the light in both eyes to see if he could elicit any type of response. 

Nothing. 

“Fuck. That’s not good.” 

The questions came quickly from all four mobile brothers, but both medics ignored them, focused solely on their patient whose breathing had started to pick up again. 

“Trent? Trent, why… why can’t I see you?” 

He shared a look with Danny, who shrugged. How the hell do you tell someone you have no idea what’s wrong with them, when they can’t see or hear you? Brock began to panic, groaning as his small movements pulled at his injuries and squeezing Trent’s hand tightly.

“Trent, what’s going on?” 

Going prone in front of him to avoid moving any of Brock’s limbs too much, he moved Brock’s hand to his shoulder, and shrugged. It was the only thing he knew to do to communicate with his friend that he wasn’t sure what was happening. 

It… didn’t go down well. 

Worried Brock was not only going to tear wounds wide open, but hyperventilate himself into unconsciousness – which with the amount of blood he’d likely already lost, and all the dust around would _not_ be a good thing – he summoned Jason. “Get his attention; let him know you’re here, keep him calm.” 

With a nod, Jason crouched and grabbed Brock’s hand, breaking the death grip he’d had on Trent’s shoulder and tapping it once to get his brother’s attention. He got it alright – Brock’s wide, unseeing eyes going directly to where their hands were. Jason copied Trent’s earlier action, traced a B onto his palm, before tapping it once. 

Now that he knew he was safe, it took no time at all for Brock to identify who was trying to get his attention. “Jase?” 

Jason squeezed his hand before shuffling to Brock’s right side and going prone beside him; wrapping his free arm over his brother’s shoulders. Brock leaned into the comfort, and as Jason had suspected he would, fought to calm down. 

“Good, that’s real good Brock,” Jason murmured, rubbing small circles onto his brother’s back to give him something to focus on. Trent nodded when Bravo 1 looked at him; grateful he’d known exactly what was needed to keep their handler calm. 

“We got you. We got you.” 

* * *

With Brock lying there quietly, knowing that his brothers were now with him, the rest of the team were able to remove what remained of the debris.

Jason had made the call to swap with Clay, seeing as the blond wasn’t able to help with freeing Brock, and Clay had changed positions without question. After setting an IV line in the wrist of his broken arm to get some extra blood into him, and after a brief discussion between the medics, Trent had removed his headset and put them over Brock’s ears, as well as wrapped a bandage around his eyes. Brock hadn’t been too thrilled by things suddenly going on his face, and had told him to stop, but between the pair of them they’d gotten him to calm enough to accept what they were doing. 

With his eardrums blown, and who knew what going on with his eyes, the less external input that could interfere with the healing, the better. There was no way to explain it to Brock, and Trent knew that his friend would follow whatever he did – but it didn’t mean he had to like it. 

Boxed in as he was, Brock had gone limp between Cerberus and Clay, who was busy watching the others clear the debris, occasionally squeezing his brother’s hand when something was moved that hurt him. 

Admittedly, Clay felt completely useless – and even though he knew Brock needed the comfort it was hard convincing himself that his task was equally as important. So focused on the others as he was, he didn’t really register Brock releasing their hands until he felt fingers probing his arm. 

“Clay? Why’s your arm in a sling?” Brock rasped. “Did you fall on something?” 

He rolled his eyes. If only. 

Biting his lip, trying to work out how to answer, he eventually pulled his sidearm free, and after removing the magazine to make it safe he set it down in front of him before guiding Brock to it. 

The moment Brock touched the barrel, he turned to face him, and if Trent hadn’t done the bandages so thick Clay just knew Brock would be giving him an exasperated look. “You got shot? Seriously?” Brock’s rasping laugh turned into a hacking cough, which in turn made the handler groan. 

“Clay, keep him calm,” Trent warned. Evidently the medic hadn’t heard Brock’s question, and also assumed Clay had suddenly become a telepath, because yes Trent – keeping someone quiet, who couldn’t communicate, was _so_ easy. 

But then he realised there was a way. It was going to take forever, but it would help them talk to him. 

He nudged Brock’s hand to the ground, and flipped it palm-side up. Taking his time, he drew letters on the palm, allowing Brock to repeat each letter so he could identify the word. 

It took a moment for Brock to clue into what he was doing, but he was soon repeating back what was written. 

“N…E…E…D – need, 2 - need to, S…T…A…Y – need to stay… Still?” 

Clay squeezed his hand. Brock sighed, even that simple action making him cough, and Clay suddenly realised that the sound of his breathing seemed to be getting worse. “Spense, how… how bad is it?” 

“Hey, Trent?” he called, using his head to wave the medic over. “Can you c’mere and listen to Brock for a sec?” Even as he talked to his brother, he traced letters on Brock’s hand. 

“S…T…I…L…L – still, F…R…E…E…I…N…G – still freeing me? So… so you don’t… don’t… um… know?” 

He squeezed once, worry clawing at his throat when Brock’s talking became more laboured with every breath. Even Cerberus seemed unsettled by his handlers demeanour; whining and snuffling at his hair – trying to get as close as possible without hurting him. 

“O…okay.” 

The concern on Trent’s face meant he wasn’t imagining it. “Fuck, he must have broken ribs,” the medic muttered. “Ask him how he feels, if anything hurts. Guys – we need to move faster. Danny, you bring your portable oxygen?” 

“There’s a canister in my pack,” Danny replied. “Bring me the bag when you’re done, he’s got an open fracture on his leg that I need to wrap, ASAP. Boys, let’s get rid of this metal sheet.” 

“H…O…W – how, F…E…E…L – ho… how feel?” Brock said, and yep, he was definitely struggling now. Trent started ripping things out of the bag to get to the canister faster. 

“Chest… chest tight… arm aches … can’t… can’t feel my legs,” Brock told them, voice fading to a whisper, and Clay watched in horror as Brock seemed to go limp next to him. “Tired… Clay.” 

“Fucking hurry up Trent!” he snapped, utterly terrified. He’d never watched someone deteriorate as quickly as Brock had, and seeing it now scared him absolutely shitless. 

“Got it! Danny, get over here!” 

“I NEED MY MEDKIT! NOW!” Danny roared, and a quick glance over his shoulder showed Clay the medic had been sprayed with blood that he was damn certain hadn’t been there a moment ago. No. No no, please no… 

Trent hurled the oxygen and the mask he’d grabbed at Clay, before diving to the medic’s side. Now that Brock was unconscious - please let that be all he was, _please_ – Clay grabbed the canister and wedged it under his body so his hand was free, and he plugged the connector into the top before all but slamming the mask against Brock’s face. 

He could hear the others panicking behind him, their talking rapid-fire and high pitched as they yelled, but he refused to look – kept his eyes trained on his brother and watched the stilted rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed. Sort of. 

“C’mon Broccoli,” he muttered in the man’s ear. “You gotta hang in there for us, okay?” 

_Please just hang in there. We can’t lose you, too._

* * *

There was a book that Trent kept tucked away in a draw at home that no one knew about. One might call it a diary, but he was more inclined to call it a journal simply because there wasn’t any of the ‘dear diary’ crap in there. His journal detailed every mission he’d been on since joining the navy, knowing full well that it would provide some interesting reading for the future Sawyer generations, and potentially future SEALs. 

His earlier entries only ever depicted the unique missions, bad ones – anything remotely beyond the cut and dry they usually got; but after becoming a SEAL every mission made it into the book, because as he’d quickly learned, even the simplest spin-up’s inevitably had some correlation to the bigger ones. 

Each entry was entered with as little emotion as possible; because as he’d discovered he was able to process what had happened better when he could look at it clinically – write down everything that happened, every step or call made that put them at whatever outcome they’d had. It had been a way for him to learn from their mistakes, spot signs that could lead to a different outcome in the future if he acted differently. 

Missions where he lost friends, lost _brothers_ were heavily dissected; a way to help him process the loss and accept what had happened, no matter how hard it was to do, so he could move on. 

Missions that resulted in serious injuries were just as detailed, because while no one had been lost, it was sometimes a near thing. 

His own injury was in there, so was Nate’s death. The South Sudan balls-up, Manila and Venezuela were just some of the more recent ‘highlights’ - if one was so inclined to describe FUBAR situations as such. 

Each mission was also coded with coloured tabs; green for the simple, cut and dry one-dayers. Yellow for the slightly harder ones where things maybe hadn’t gone entirely to plan. Red for the ones where shit had hit the fan with such epic proportions that he still didn’t know how they’d made it out alive and in one piece. Then there were the black tabs, as so coloured by himself, for the missions they’d lost brothers, or brothers had suffered career ending injuries. 

But this mission… he didn’t know what colour to put on it. Red? Black? Both, most likely – considering what they’d already lost, and still stood to lose. 

His now rubber gloved hands were slick with blood as he pinched the ends of the severed vein in Brock’s leg closed while Danny prepped a temporary fix that would – hopefully – hold long enough to get him into surgery. It had been the sheet of metal the others had removed that caused it, but when doing so, no one had noticed that it had previously cut into Brock’s thigh, and so deeply. Trapped as it was, the metal had also kept the vein sealed, acted as a stent - but the removal had caused the blood to flow. Everywhere. 

If they couldn’t fix it, even temporarily, his best friend would bleed to death. That couldn’t happen. That _wouldn’t_ happen. 

He wouldn’t let it. 

“Jase, call the chopper in,” he ordered. “Brock needed surgery yesterday.” 

Jason nodded, pale but focused as he activated his comms. “TOC, Bravo 1.” 

_“Go ahead.”_

“We need a medivac here asap. Get the pilot who flew us in; we need him as close as possible – Bravo 5 is critical.” 

_“Wilco. ETA five mikes.”_

“When the chopper comes, Jason and Ray you need to roll Brock for the backboard – Lochy support him from the middle,” Danny told them, already shuffling to the side to make room for someone. Trent moved to the opposite end, and their brothers settled beside them. “Trent and I need our hands free, so it’s on you to get him on there.” 

“We need to deal with the rebar in his side,” he added. Danny cursed – it was an issue they didn’t have the time or hands for. “Jase, call Alpha – see where they are. We could use an extra set of hands.” 

“They headed back to Flynn after Lang went with Wilson. They won’t get back here in time,” Danny told him. “Fuck. _Fuck._ ” 

From his experience, Danny had always been an unflappable kind of guy. Bravo had put him through his paces and then some, multiple times, and he didn’t bat an eye. To see him stressed as he was, was enough to rattle him. 

“Shit. Okay, Lochy – look at that rebar, tell me what we’re dealing with. Have we established if it’s a through and through yet?” 

Ray shook his head. “You told us to deal with the other stuff first.” 

“Trent, Brock’s blood bag is nearly empty!” 

Of course it was. “It’ll have to wait, Clay,” he told the blond, craning his head to get a better look at said bag. A quarter left, if that. “How’s his breathing?” 

“Uh… there?” 

“Super descriptive, thanks Spense.” 

“The fuck do you want me to say, Trent?” Clay snapped, glaring at him from over his shoulder. “He’s breathing, but only just. You got bigger problems than worrying about what I’m handling right now.” 

“The hell am I supposed to do with that, Clay?” he retorted, glaring right back. The annoying thing was, was that Clay was technically right. There were other things that took priority, and the fact Brock was still breathing meant he was still alive. But he wasn’t about to say that – because as right as Clay might be, he also needed to know just what he was working with; and ‘breathing’ wasn’t as helpful as it might seem. Brock was breathing – but he needed to establish how long that would last.

“That’s enough Spenser!” Evidently, Ray agreed. “He’s the medic, not you. If Trent wants to know what it’s like then you bloody well answer.” 

“You all need to calm your shit,” Danny snapped. He hadn’t stopped working, and soon had a small tube strapped around the vein and tightly sealed. Trent let go, exhaled shakily when it held. “Brock needs us to be focused, not squabbling like sixty year old grannies over the last goddamn cookie.” 

He couldn’t help it. He snorted. He could absolutely see Brock comparing them to that, were he conscious. Weirdly, that tiny bit of levity helped clear the fog that had settled around him and he was able to think clearly again. 

“Clay, I need you to listen to his breathing – do so for twenty seconds. We need to know what it’s like – wet, raspy, whatever. It will tell us what state his lungs are in because we can’t check his ribs right now. Jase and Ray, I want you to secure the site for the helo - we’re going to have to move quickly to get him on that board, and we can’t have any loose debris causing issues.” 

There was a chorus of copies, the focus of his brothers becoming sharp once again. With the vein secured, he and Danny set about tending to the open fracture on Brock’s leg. It would hurt like all hell, but with the right treatment even before surgery, it wouldn’t permanently sideline his brother. 

“The rebar is a through and through,” Lochy said from where he was inspecting Brock’s side. He leaned over and had a look too. For the first time today, something had gone right – whilst the rebar was in there, it wasn’t attached to anything which meant they didn’t need to use the quickie on it. The thought of how hot the iron would’ve gotten when cutting through it… he shuddered. Nope. Troy had been different - as they’d been able to cut back far enough, and hold the bar enough, they’d been able to mitigate any heat build-up. But they couldn’t do that for Brock, which meant that cutting it so close to him would’ve made things a hundred times worse, not to mention would’ve made the surgeons lives harder when they suddenly had to rip open burnt flesh just to treat it.

“Alright, have a feel underneath, see if there’s anything else that might be embedded that could cause problems when we lift him.” Lochy slid his hands under Brock’s front as instructed, but thankfully there was nothing there. Although those same hands came away bloodied, and he dreaded to think just what the damage was that had caused it. 

“Incoming chopper!” Clay called, and sure enough, there was the helicopter racing towards them. “Trent, his breathing sounds wet, and he’s still struggling,” the blond added. 

“Roger,” he replied. Danny looked at him pointedly, and he sighed. “If there’s room in the chopper, one of us needs to go with.” 

“You or me?” Danny asked, raising his voice to be heard over the steadily increasing noise of the helicopter. “Your call!” 

Grateful to be given the choice, despite knowing Danny was the lead, he deferred to the medic. It killed him to do so, to leave Brock, but he wasn’t who his brother needed right then. “You! You’ll have the others to check on, anyway!” 

“Copy!” 

As a group, they leaned over Brock to protect him when the helicopter descended, all ducking their heads when they were slammed by the rotor wash as the helicopter came to hover only four yards from them. The doors slid open, and the medics jumped out, faces set in grim determination. 

The backboard was set down immediately, and as a group they rolled Brock onto it via his non-rebar side after securing his arm against his waist. The reason for the blood soon became obvious, a deep gash that ran the majority of Brock’s abdomen eliciting several curses quickly followed by Danny and a medic pressing multiple gauze patches against it to try stem the bleeding. 

Seeing the new injury, Trent’s heart sank. There was every chance he could lose his friend to asphyxiation through blood-loss if they didn’t put an extra IV in straight away.

He’d made the wrong choice to stay behind, but it was too late to change it now. 

Strapped in and secured, with the oxygen mask now secured around his head Brock’s board was lifted and carried to the waiting chopper – the medics filing in, and Danny jumping in behind them. 

“I’ll take care of him! See you soon!” he yelled, and just like that the doors were slammed shut, the helo lifted into the air, and Bravo were left to watch it disappear in the distance. Soon, it was only Cerberus’ whining that could be heard – the pup tugging at his lead as he tried to follow the direction his owner had gone. 

Clay crouched beside him, tugged the canine to his side and whispered softly in his ear. Unable to bear it, bear the thought that that could very well be the last time Cerberus saw his dad alive, Trent looked away. 

He felt… lost. Cut adrift in the sea of adrenaline that was already starting to crash down around him. He needed something else, something to focus on so he didn’t get lost in his thoughts. 

“ _Bravo 1, TOC.”_

“Go ahead, Flynn,” Jason replied, and a quick glance at his brothers revealed a group of worn, tired men. They all needed something else to focus on, otherwise they’d end up in the dark recesses of their minds – a place that, quite frankly, they couldn’t afford to go. 

“ _Rally at the van. I’ve got some updates for you, and we’ll work out what to do now that we’ve located our teams.”_

Jason didn’t reply straight away; instead looked at them each in turn, before nodding as though to himself. “Copy TOC,” he replied, his voice weary, his shoulders slumped. “On our way.” 

The only sound to be heard as they made their way back was the faint wailing of sirens in the distance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was today years old when I learned that MI5 and MI6 exist alongside each other, and aren’t one in the same. Much like the FBI and CIA (I wouldn’t have the foggiest what NZ’s equivalent ones are), MI5 deal's with domestic protection, MI6 deal with international intelligence gathering. From the MI5 website:
> 
> In October 1909, Captain Vernon Kell of the South Staffordshire Regiment and Captain Mansfield Cumming of the Royal Navy jointly established the Secret Service Bureau following a recommendation by the Committee of Imperial Defence, which had been considering the danger from German espionage.
> 
> To meet an additional requirement from the Admiralty for information about Germany's new navy, Kell and Cumming decided to divide up their work. Thereafter, Kell, or "K", was responsible for counter-espionage within the British Isles while Cumming, or "C", had responsibility for gathering intelligence overseas. The two divisions became MI5 and MI6 respectively.
> 
> While the head of MI6 (SIS) is still referred to as "C" today, the Director General of MI5 has not been known as "K" since the 1940s.
> 
> F.N.G – Fucking New Guy
> 
> Four yards = 3.65 meters


	11. A Bit of Administration

**A/N: Hello all! Well. Last chapter was a hoot, wasn't it! Poor Brock, I've really tossed him through the ~~collander~~ wringer, haven't I? Whoops? But hey, he's alive? I've taken pity on your poor, battered feels and have given you nearly 7k of non-whump. Aren't I nice? :D**

**Sidenote #1: I've always pictured Alex Lang's demeanour as Paul Rudd's Scott Lang. Just that goofy, happy go lucky kinda guy who is a closeted walking disaster. Just to help you, if you hadn't picked up on his walking disaster-ness already.**

**Sidenote #2: While proofreading this a final time, there was an Earthquake in my neck of the woods. Nothing major, but it was pretty noticeable! I feel like that should be a sign for something, but I haven't decided what it will be yet. Although the last two good ones I felt were when NZ was in L4 lockdown, and we've (minus Auckland who're now in L3) gone back to L2, so it could be related! O.o Looks like my roadtrip is off the cards, and I'm still waiting on news about my job. Oi...  
**

**Special shout out to[Moanin_0h](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moanin_0h), [boo_1997](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boo_1997), [turnitup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnitup), [Muggleborn12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muggleborn12), [SlickesGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlickesGirl), [bluedragonmaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedragonmaid), [Rantsandobliviousness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rantsandobliviousness), [Norwegian_Youth_SOF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Norwegian_Youth_SOF), [Morgan_Jean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgan_Jean), [Owebee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owebee), [DonnaJ66](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DonnaJ66), [illyria13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyria13), [FlutieCutie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlutieCutie), [TinyNinjaWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyNinjaWolf), [Samsam572](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samsam572), [FancyHippopotamoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyHippopotamoose), [Quetzalcoatl_hime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quetzalcoatl_hime), [burn_me_down](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burn_me_down), [KazooKaren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren), [nhardoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhardoy), [ghostwriter_44](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwriter_44), [Raeschiev9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raeschiev9), [ShellyFanFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic), [Hayzkid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hayzkid), [Irish1969](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish1969), [Laura42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura42), [Floopdeedoopdee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floopdeedoopdee), [Eggerthella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggerthella), [purplerain88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplerain88), [blabliblablu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blabliblablu), [TheLaurinchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLaurinchen), [MiaMalfoy716](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaMalfoy716), [CamilleMadeAnAccount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount), [Jemmacatt14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemmacatt14), [Wurdsmadder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wurdsmadder), [NobodyKnowsWhoIAM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobodyKnowsWhoIAM), and [Bastet5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastet5) as well as the 86 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are awesome!**

* * *

In all his years of service, Eric had seen his fair share of horrors, of situations that should never have eventuated, and yet somehow had. 

Bombings, hostage situations, pirates, assassinations, ambushes, raids, gun fights… Jesus. There’d been so many gunfights that he couldn’t even put a number to how many he’d been a part of, either actively or overseeing from his command post. 

All those years, all those experiences… one would assume by now he’d seen it all. 

After today, he was certain he finally had. 

He’d seen the video feeds, seen their men fight while bodies dropped all around them. He’d seen the devastation from the satellites Davis had somehow managed to gain access too – he didn’t know how, and figured ignorance was bliss in this case – and thought he’d had an idea of what to expect. 

Seeing it for himself as the helicopter flew overhead – at his request – had proven that his imagination hadn’t quite done it justice. 

It was… bad? Horrendous? Devastating? He couldn’t settle on what to call it, so went back to basics because sometimes that was all you could do. 

Down below, he could see a large number of people picking their way through the rubble, knew that amongst them were Alpha, as well as Jason and Ray. With their men finally accounted for, and nothing to do besides wait for news, they’d all volunteered to help with the body recovery - and the government officials had immediately agreed. To say he was proud of them was an understatement – to go through what they just had, and be willing to give more, was what made his men who they were; the best of the best, both as people, and operators. 

He knew that if they could, Clay and Trent would’ve been right there with them. But Clay and Cerberus had been frogmarched to a waiting car by Trent and Flynn so they could be properly tended to at the hospital, and that’s where he was going, due to meet them there shortly. 

“ _Holy hell,_ ” Sonny muttered over the comms. “ _Our boys were under all that?”_

His trip over hadn’t, of course, been possible without Bravo 4. He’d considered for all of two seconds telling the Texan to stay behind, and had nearly laughed himself sick at the stupidity of such a thought. So, Sonny was with him, as was Lisa, and a look over his shoulder showed both of them with their faces pressed against the glass as they stared at the remnants below. 

“ _They’re out,_ ” Lisa reminded them. “ _That’s all that matters._ ” 

And it was. Their boys were out, and were receiving the care they needed – either from the hands of the multiple surgeons and doctors who were treating them, or from the coroner who was prepping their fallen Eagles for travel. Either way, they were out, which meant that when the time came, they’d be able to go home. 

“Alright,” he told the pilot, “let’s go.” 

_“Copy that_.” 

The helicopter banked, and made a beeline for the hospital he could see in the far distance. Soon, he thought. He’d be with his men soon. 

“ _Sir,”_ the pilot said, and Eric glanced over to find the Aussie focused on his task, but his expression grim. _“Please pass my thanks onto your teams for doing what they did today. They stuck their necks out for the place I call home, and even though they couldn’t stop it, they did what they could. As former military, I’m grateful for to you all.”_

He nodded, tried not to let the wave of emotion he’d been keeping in check for the last few hours suddenly overcome him. “Of course. Jase spoke highly of you, of what you’ve done, so on behalf of the United States Navy I’d like to thank you in turn.” What happened would be dissected heavily over the coming weeks, if not months and years, and blame undoubtedly placed on their shoulders for not doing more – regardless of how the odds had been stacked against them. To have even a few acknowledge the work they’d done made it all worth it. 

He also knew that by the time he exited the helicopter, Lisa would have the pilot’s name so official recognition could be given when it was time to do so. 

_“I’m just glad I could help,”_ the pilot replied, bringing the helicopter into land. Eric could see a suit lingering in the roof access door - turned away from the winds that were buffeting her but ready to meet them. “ _If you need anything else, just let your buddy know.”_

“Will do.” The helicopter settled on the pad with barely a bump, and he shook the pilot’s hand before unplugging his headset, looped the cord around his neck loosely and opened the door so he could climb out. Lisa and Sonny filed out from the back, their headsets, like his, firmly in place to protect their ears. He took one of Lisa’s bags so she could help Sonny with his crutches – then the three of them made their way to the roof access. 

She opened the door, and they filed inside – all four removing their ear protection the moment the doors swung shut. 

“Ah, so much quieter,” the woman said in greeting as she led the way to the elevator. “My name is Emilia Rodríguez, I will be your liaison with the government and hospital, so am at your disposal. Anything you need from us, you will have – just see me and we will get it done.” 

“Appreciate it, ma’am,” he said. With a dedicated liaison, it meant Lisa was free to do other, more important work – and it also meant they’d be able to get answers immediately, rather than wait on a contact higher up the food chain. 

“We’ve cleared a ward for your people to be brought to once they’ve been treated, and there are some beds and a table for the rest of you as well.”

“How are they?” Since Brock and Wilson had been found, he hadn’t had any updates from Flynn beyond the fact they were en-route to the hospital. It had been hard, not knowing, especially when Brock was one of his men, part of his family – but he’d put his personal feelings aside, settled for the fact that Brock was in safe hands, and being watched over by Trent and Danny.

“I’m afraid I don’t know specifics,” Emilia told them. “Two have been discharged and are currently on the ward, the others are in surgery.” The elevator doors slid open, and admitted them to a floor that was filled with semi-controlled chaos.

Nurses hurried back and forth, people were scattered throughout; bandages and blood as far as the eye could see. There was crying, moaning, yelling… evidently, this was ground zero for the victims.

“These are all from the airport?” Sonny asked, sticking as close as he could without tripping anyone up. Eric rolled his eyes; it looked like hospitals were about to be added to the Texan’s list of phobias which, considering the size of said list, he was surprised it had taken so long.

“Sí, those that could not fit were sent to one of the other hospitals on the island – this one took the most severe cases as they’re better equipped. Ah, here we are.” They’d taken a few side corridors, and it was much quieter now they were away from the main triage stations. Through the window, he could see Clay sitting up in one of the beds, and immediately moved out of the way as Sonny, predictably, harrumphed and hobble-charged for the door. “I have a few other people to see, so I shall leave you to it. But please, if you need me just call.” She handed him a card, and he held it up in acknowledgment before following Sonny and Lisa into the room.

Aside from Clay, there were two others there as well – a quick deviation to his youngest sniper revealed Winters and Springfield; both EODs hooked up to monitors and fast asleep. Satisfied they were alive, and that they looked relatively okay, he joined the others.

“Kid, you’re gunna force me into an early retirement,” he told the blond, tousling his hair in greeting. “I swear, every time I take my eyes off you, you go do something stupid.”

“Please don’t lecture me,” Clay pleaded. “I had Trent on my case the whole ride to the hospital about my shitty luck. Didn’t help that Cerb looked all miserable, too. It’s not like I do this shit on purpose, you know.”

He smirked, capitulating to the request. He did know – but the fact that neither he nor Brock willingly went looking for injuries, but got them anyway was a source of constant exasperation to him and Trent. And speaking of… “Where are they? Trent and Cerb, I mean.”

Clay folded his sheet back, and there was Cerberus’ nose, pressed tightly against Clay’s hip – the rest of the dog tucked closely to his side. 

“I was gunna say bam-bam, that sheet did nothing for your hips,” Sonny laughed, settling into the chair beside the bed. “Thought maybe the jello here had packed a few extra pounds on for you.” Clay flipped Sonny the bird the same time Lisa clipped the Texan over the ears. “Oi! Wounded man here, be gentle!”

“Clay’s wounded, Winters and Springfield are wounded - you Sonny, are not,” Lisa retorted, and how she’d known who the two in the bed were without looking, Eric didn’t know. The best explanation he had, was that it was Lisa. Her psychic abilities astounded him sometimes.

Not to mention frightened him.

“Yeah Sonny, crutches does not a wounded man make,” Clay added, smirking at his brother who glared at him.

“You get a concussion too? You’re talking weird.”

“Clay, where are the others?” he asked, heading off the retort he could see coming. With the young sniper looking no worse for wear beyond his bandaged shoulder, and now in Lisa’s capable hands, he wanted to track down his medics, and Flynn as well, to get some answers. 

“Uh not sure,” Spenser replied, rubbing his eyes. Despite having company, he looked tired; the day’s events having caught up to him. “Danny sent Tim to get Trent, and Flynn went with them after Trent found a nurse to sort my shoulder. I dunno when that was - hour ago, maybe?”

“Trent let someone else fix your shoulder?” Sonny said, surprised. “He didn’t want to do it himself?”

“He was gunna, but I told him not to. There are others who need him more than me, Son,” Clay replied, shuffling until he was lying down. There was movement beside him, and Cerberus settled his head on Clay’s stomach, huffing quietly. “My choice for a nurse to do it, not him.”

“Alright.” Satisfied Clay wasn’t alone, he moved around the bed to get to the door. “Get some sleep, Clay – I’ll go track our boys down and get an update on the lads on site, too.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Clay replied around a yawn.

Eric rolled his eyes and closed the door behind him. Time to find his men, and some answers.

* * *

A few requests for directions, several corridors and one elevator ride later, Eric found himself unexpectedly face to face with Delta’s medic. 

The man looked wrecked, his face lined with exhaustion, smudged with dirt - his eyes were tinged red and blood was all over his uniform. He didn’t know Tim overly well, but he’d heard people singing Tim’s praises a time or two and had seen for himself the skill with which the SEAL operated. 

Normally, he looked like all the other SEALs one came across – confident, head held high, shoulders back with the surety they had in themselves and their ability. Now though, he looked little more than a man who had lost far too much. 

It was the expression of someone who looked so lost that made him ask, “what do you need?” - shifting into the role of mentor while Flynn wasn’t there to do it and sliding an arm around the man’s shoulders before guiding him into the lift – his own mission taking a backseat while he took care of the medic. 

No matter what squad a SEAL belonged to, they would always take care of their own. 

“Uh,” Tim shook himself slightly, the unexpectedness of seeing him taking a while to sink in. That was fine, if there was one thing Eric knew how to do well, it was be patient. The man had been through hell, it was only logical that autopilot had taken control. “Sorry, sir?” 

“I think you need a change of clothes, and some food,” he decided, leading the man from the lift and down the corridor. He’d put Tim with Lisa, knew he’d be in safe hands while his basic needs were taken care of. “They’ve got a ward set up for us; I want you to stay there, take care of yourself and get cleaned up.” 

“My brothers…” 

Eric squeezed the man’s shoulder gently, felt his heart break a little at the soft, emotionally-drained protest. As much as he wanted to know what happened, he couldn’t bear the thought of making the man relive it; one of Flynn’s messages had mentioned that Tim had held Sam’s hand as he died. A trauma he didn’t need to be reminded of right now. “They’ll be brought there when they’re released from the OR, you can wait for them there.” 

Tim nodded, didn’t say anything further. Arriving at the room, he opened the door and Lisa was there in an instant, taking Tim by the elbow and guiding him towards a bed. 

“There’s a bathroom with a shower attached to our ward,” she told him quietly as she took control. “I’ll get a fresh set of scrubs sent over until we can get all of Delta’s go-bags so he can change. Sonny’s gone to find snacks until we can get some food brought in.”

“Sounds good. The boys -”

“Are on their way. I put the call out that they’re to come in, take a break. There’s plenty of people on the scene now to take over, at least for a little while. Food should arrive not long after that.”

He nodded. One group of people accounted for, one to go. “Thanks. I’m gunna try hunt Trent down. Again.”

Lisa nodded and shuffled off to tend to her charge. Casting one last look into the room to confirm nothing had changed since he’d been there, he closed the door behind him, scratching at his arms as he shivered, the feeling of bugs crawling under his skin making him uncomfortable.

The look in Tim’s eyes… he’d seen it far too much in the past, dreaded the thought of seeing it again in any of his team; especially when it had taken Jason so long to shake that look after losing Nate, then Alanna within a year. He’d had the look a time or two himself, knew just how hard it was to come back from.

He knew each of these boys would have that look in their eye over the coming months, memories and doubts dogging their every step as they tried to process what had happened. It would be a long road to recovery, physically and mentally and it wouldn’t be easy. But he also knew that each and every active SEAL would look out for them, help them come through the other side because they were family, and that’s what family did.

They took care of their own.

* * *

Making it three corridors beyond the elevator this time, he found Alex sitting on the floor outside one of the operating rooms, one hand supporting his head with his elbow on his knee, the other curled in his lap. 

Despite the silence that seemed to flood the hall, he must’ve made a noise, because the SEAL looked up and flopped a hand in greeting. Here was another man who looked exhausted beyond belief and so, with no idea exactly where to even begin to find Trent, he sat down beside him. 

“You doing alright?” 

Alex shrugged, leaned his head against the wall. “Adrenaline crashes suck balls,” he replied, rubbing his eyes. “Think I’m crashing pretty hard. It’s been… a long day.” 

“I hear you,” he muttered. Boy had it been a long day – he was more than ready to see the end of it, that was for damn sure. “What do you know?” 

Alex blew out a breath, raked his hand through his hair. “Uh… Winters and Springfield finished surgery, should be in a ward somewhere. Kairos and Jackson are in these rooms being operated on. Flynn’s down in the morgue, and I think Tim’s with him, or was. They needed to formally ID the bodies, and they’re prepping them to be returned to Madrid so we can take ‘em home. They… they’ve taken it pretty hard; losing Stone and Ramirez. I was planning on checking on them, but I didn’t want to intrude. I know I’d want time… were it anyone on Alpha. Brock, Wilson and Banks are gone and – wait.” Alex blinked, sitting up straighter as though registering who he was talking to for the first time. “What are you doing here, sir?”

He felt light headed, the way his heart started racing. “What do you mean gone?!” Fuck. Had they really lost three more brothers? Had it happened so suddenly, that no one had thought to get the word out to him? Warn him so he could prepare to tell the others?

Christ. This would utterly destroy his team. He couldn’t even begin to fathom how to break the news.

“They got medivac’d to Madrid twenty minutes ago. Shit. Why are you here?” Alex poked him in the shoulder, as though trying to confirm his eyes weren’t deceiving him. He rocked slightly with the motion, and Alex’s eyes widened even more. “You were supposed to be in Madrid,” the man babbled. “Not here – dude. Boss, Blackburn, sir – why are you here? I mean, it’s great to see you but shit, sir.”

His lungs suddenly remembered how to function, and he took a deep breath. Thank God – but also, what? “Why are they being taken to Madrid?!” The bewilderment he felt was echoed in Alex’s face, so much so that they were both leaning outwards just so they could stare at the other. When the man kept talking, he snapped his fingers in his face. “Lang. Focus – why are the boys being taken to Madrid?” 

Alex clapped a hand over his eyes and groaned in exasperation. “Danny said their injuries were too complex for the hospital to treat. He spoke with Doc back home, and he’s organised for them to go to a specialist hospital on the mainland so they have the best chance of recovery. That, and the surgeons have so many people to triage they can’t afford to take their time with our guys. Danny and Trent agreed it was for the best, so went with them.” 

He also groaned. On the one hand, at least the trio were still alive, and en-route to the best care they could get. On the other, they were en-route to the best care they could get – which wasn’t here. Which meant he now had to gather up the teams and get them back to Madrid asap. Bugger.

“Damn.” His phone pinged, and he checked it, only to find a message from Lisa.

**_E.R appeared, X3 SEALs medivac’d to mainland for surgery. Plan?_ **

That was a very good question, and one he couldn’t answer without first talking to a doctor about the pair that were still in surgery. “Any idea when we’ll get an update about Jackson and Kairos?” Alex shook his head, and he sighed. “In that case, go find Davis - we’ve been given a ward to make our base for now. Get cleaned up, have some food, then you can come back here. I’m going to go find Flynn.”

He pushed up from the floor, extended a hand which Alex took gratefully and they ambled towards the elevator. He’d seen a sign for the morgue when he’d come down, so he’d take a different lift to ensure Alex got to their team faster. “Head up two floors, then take three right turns and you’ll be in our corridor. Text Davis if you get lost.”

“Roger that,” Alex replied, getting into the cab after it expelled a nurse. He pressed the button, and the doors slid shut again. Calling his own cab, Eric rubbed his eyes while firing off a ‘standby’ to Lisa as he contemplated what to do.

To say the thought of another three hour flight was tiring, was to put it mildly. They’d started looking for a jet the moment things went wrong, and their pilot – whose timing was impeccable and was thankfully another SAS-arranged one – had gotten them to the Southern airport in two hours. Somehow. While that had seemed all well and good at the time, it now proved pointless when the most critical of their team were going back the way he’d just come.

Frustratingly, that left his two medics by themselves until they could get there – which wouldn’t be until the two EODs were released from surgery.

Despite the inconvenience, he knew that he was needed here. For the time being, Flynn would be a write-off – and rightly so – so it would be up to him to supervise their departure from the island. In theory, that should be easy, but he doubted it’d be as simple as grabbing his people and leaving. He climbed in the cab when the doors opened, skimmed his eyes over the board for the floor he needed and pressed the corresponding button.

Simply put, there was a lot to do. So, first things first.

He was taken two floors down, and after making a right hand turn as per the signage, he found two guards standing at the far end. Nodding in greeting, he thanked them quietly when they let him in. He entered, his eyes immediately falling on the American flags spread over two of the slabs in the room.

Flynn was leaning against the wall, positioned between the two tables with a hand covering his eyes, although it was removed quickly when he registered he had company. 

“It’s just me,” he told his colleague, focusing on his grieving brother. “How’re you doing?” 

“I failed them,” Flynn replied, sniffing wetly. “They were counting on me to bring them home, and I failed them.” 

Leaning against the wall beside him, he squeezed his shoulder. “You didn’t fail them, Leroy,” he countered gently. “You were operating off the same information the rest of us had. Whoever these people were… they were smart. They played us all – got what they wanted. For here, at least. Heathrow was contained before they could do anything, if that’s of any comfort.” 

“Price told me when I called him.” Flynn folded his arms over his chest loosely, hunched his shoulders and slumped further into the wall. “I know I should be relieved, but…” 

“It’s hard when we’ve lost so much,” he finished for his friend. “I hear you.” 

Silence fell, and Eric realised this was the first time he’d been in a morgue after a mission. Normally, their fallen were loaded into coffins and put on a plane directly. But then, their usual operating areas were in the middle of nowhere, or somewhere hostile, so a hospital was never a possibility. 

Being here, now – he decided he didn’t much care for it. 

“Banks, Wilson and Reynolds have been medivac’d to the mainland,” he told the man, and the look Flynn gave him proved he’d been unaware of the fact. “Trent and Danny have gone with them, so we need to leave as soon as the others are released from surgery.” 

“Shit,” Flynn muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing heavily. “For what it’s worth Eric, I’m sorry for returning your boys back to you the way they are.” 

He waved it off, placing a hand on Flynn’s back and guiding him from the room. The guards would ensure Stone and Ramirez were looked after, which meant he could take care of the man next to him. “That ain’t on you, none of this is. This is the fault of whatever bastard is responsible for all this – and you know as well as I do that he’ll damn well pay. 

Flynn took one last look over his shoulder, and nodded when the door clicked shut. “Damn right they will.” 

* * *

If there was one thing Lisa had never been able to shake, it was the instinct to help other people. 

Having two younger sisters, then losing one physically, the other emotionally to the fire when they were kids hadn’t smothered that instinct. If anything, it had made it grow. 

When she joined the navy, she’d told herself to reign it in, tamp down the need because they were all adults here – they’d take care of themselves. Which, for the first few years was true – although she still helped when she thought she could get away with it without damaging anyone’s pride. 

What she hadn’t realised was that her CO had cottoned on pretty quickly to what she was doing, which is why he nudged her towards the logistics role, seeing it as the perfect opportunity for her to hone those skills into a career opportunity by organising people and what they needed. 

She took to it eagerly, enjoying the challenge each day brought and refining her skills as her previous CO had hoped. Then the chance to move into that role for a SEAL team came about, and her name was put forward by her superiors without her knowledge. The next thing she knew she was faced with a group of men who were trained to be the best of the best; deadly, refined, ruthless- quick mentally and physically. 

Which they were when operating. But when they weren’t? They were _hopeless_. 

Lost clothing, misplaced guns, broken shoelaces. Missing crates, outdated software – hell, someone managed to lose their _car_ for three days before she tracked it down when they sheepishly asked for her help which, as it turned out, had been at the mechanics where he’d left it because, ‘oh yeah, it wouldn’t start. Oops?’ 

Learning that these Tier One operators didn’t function so well as people had been like a slap to the face. 

It wasn’t to say her predecessor had been useless - far from it in fact. The man had done his job, and done it well; but there was a big difference between knowing what someone wanted, and what they _needed_ – and that in turn was the difference between a group of semi-functioning individuals, and a cohesive unit.

Her instinct had her solving problems for her boys – and they were her boys, because they were about as onto it as cats trying to fly sometimes – long before they even realised there was a problem to begin with. Within two weeks of being there, she had Bravo, Alpha and all of their support team whipped into a more streamlined, effective group – both as operators and humans. 

It was her knack, and her care that meant Blackburn had no issue handing a shell-shocked Tim to her, knowing full well he’d be looked after properly – and look after him she did. 

Food was the last thing he’d want, but it was what he needed; so she had a calorie rich protein shake that she whipped up ready for when he finished in the shower, using powder that actually tasted good, rather than the cardboard crap she knew Sonny chugged like liquid gold - accompanied by a pot of protein yogurt because the more nutritious calories she could get into him quickly, the better. 

A fresh change of clothes in the form of hospital scrubs weren’t ideal, but they’d suffice until they got Delta’s bags brought over, which was supposed to be soon, and he could then lie down and try get some rest. She knew that was going to be the hardest part, getting him to sleep, but surrounded by people who he could trust to watch his back would at least get him to doze. 

The next few minutes went exactly to plan. Tim came back from the shower no sooner than he seemed to have entered – she didn’t comment on his red eyes, figured if anyone had a reason to grieve in private, it was him – handed him his shake and guided him to the bed after Clay’s so he wasn’t by the door. The shake was consumed on autopilot, as was the yogurt, and a soft encouragement to get some rest as she carded her hand through the man’s hair saw him slowly relax. 

It was funny, in a way, how much she was allowed to get away with when the boys weren’t at their best – especially when they weren’t _her_ boys. But one thing she always found was that kindness and compassion would override stoicism every time, and with Tim it was no different. If he’d been coherent enough to realise what she’d done, he undoubtedly would’ve pushed her away – but as it was, the contact made him sag into his mattress, the tightness lining his face slowly fading. 

Satisfied the man was okay for the time being she checked over the rest of her charges. Winters and Springfield were sedated, according to their charts at least, so she didn’t expect to hear anything out of them for a while. Clay had turned over when Tim had come in, but had nodded off pretty quickly – the combination of painkillers and adrenaline knocking him for six. Sonny was parked in a chair next to the bed, and her amazement at the fact the Texan was voluntarily reading a magazine quickly turned to exasperation when she realised it was a swimwear one. Because of course it was.

Whatever. He was quiet, and he was occupied. That’s all she needed him to be for now, because it meant he wasn’t disrupting the others.

Movement from the corner of her eye had her hurrying on silent feet to the door to intercept their liaison, sliding into the corridor and nodding in greeting just as the woman was about to knock. “You have an update for us?” 

Emilia blinked, evidently startled by her sudden appearance, but quickly shook it off. “I do; I just heard that three of your wounded have been taken to Madrid for specialised care, and two of your men went with them. I’m sorry you didn’t know sooner,” she apologised when Lisa pulled out her phone and fired off a text. “The hospital is a bit overwhelmed as you can see, and it’s all hands on deck.” 

“You’re fine,” she replied, pocketing her phone again. “How long ago was this?” 

“Twenty minutes, is my understanding.” 

Lisa nodded, and ran the numbers in her head. By the time the boys arrived from the airport, got changed and had something to eat, they’d likely be sixty minutes behind – at the least. Factoring in however long it took for the last two to get out of surgery... 

They’d be behind by a couple hours, minimum. It wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t as bad as it could be. 

“There will be a van pulling up here in the next twenty minutes or so with the remainder of our team,” she told the liaison, pulling a pad from her pocket and scribbling a list down. “Tell them that Lisa sent you, and have them brought here. A courier should also be here with a food delivery – that needs to be brought as well as these guys are going to be starving. Then, we’ll need a plane big enough to carry four stretchers, and -” she did a quick count in her head, grimacing slightly when she realised just how many of them had to be moved. It wasn’t exactly a _small_ number, more like a damn troop. “- thirteen people, a dog and room for two caskets. Those are ideally kept somewhere separate. I also need the belongings of our people brought to this room – anything taken from them when they went into surgery comes back with us. If the person overseeing that needs help, let me know and I’ll assist.” 

She handed the list over, and Emilia nodded. “I suspected you’d want to follow your men, so I already have someone looking into what is on the island that would fulfil any of your requests. Would you have an issue with splitting, if two planes were required?” 

“So long as we can all get to Madrid, its fine,” she replied. “In fact, if it’s easier to have our wounded and deceased in a plane with others that are being medivac’d, then that’s okay with us.” Their wounded would need medical personnel to oversee their flight, and if they were able to load up with others who needed care on the mainland then they’d undoubtedly get away faster. 

Emilia seemed to think the same, because she looked relieved. “Gracias. I will get onto that for you immediately.” With a bob of her head, she was hurrying away once again. 

Lisa chewed her lip, consulted her watch and made a note of what time the medivac had departed so she could monitor just how far behind they ended up before firing a text off to Goyle, one of her support team, to tell him they had wounded en-route and to meet them when they landed. He’d be her eyes and ears until she could get there, and would ensure Trent and Danny were looked after. 

Her phone pinged, Goyle acknowledging immediately and asking if she knew the flight number. 

She didn’t, but she’d find out. It’d be the easiest way to track the plane, and she made a note to ask where it was due to land as well. It was unlikely Trent would be able to get a message out, now that they were in the air, and she didn’t want them taken anywhere without her knowing about it first. 

She slid her phone back into her pocket, and slipped back into the room, eyes checking everyone and confirming that they hadn’t moved – the only change was that Sonny had nodded off, magazine dangling from his hand and chin on his chest. She helped herself to one of the chocolate bars the Texan had found earlier, and made herself comfortable - ready to watch her team, and wait. 

Her phone went off again, Blackburn’s message telling her to standby which she did, and before she even had a chance to pocket it, it went off a second time. Reading the message, she rolled her eyes fondly, getting up and sneaking from the room. 

She found Alex two corridors over, and snorted when he sagged in relief. “You get lost again?” she teased, placing a hand on his back and guiding him back the way she’d come. 

“Not lost, geographically embarrassed,” he replied, his exhaustion overshadowing his attempt at humour, but she gave him points for trying. “I got turned around by a group rushing past, wasn’t really paying attention and couldn’t work out if I’d missed the turnoff or not.” 

“Fair enough. Come on, let’s get you sorted.” Lisa nudged Alex through the door, and unsurprisingly the medic went straight to the two EODs to check their charts. While he was busy with that, she sorted a shake for him, handing it over wordlessly when he came back to see her. 

“Their charts look good,” he told her, holding the shaker up in acknowledgement before downing it in one go. It was kind of disgusting, yet impressive to watch. “I’d say Winters will be able to leave here under his own power, and Springfield in a wheelchair when they’re allowed to wake.” 

“That’s good.” And it was – it meant there were two less to worry about. “We’ll be leaving as soon as we get the all clear to do so. How were Jackson and Kairos?” 

“Pretty banged up, when I saw them. Kairos broke both his legs and may need further treatment, and Autumn’s whole left side was injured in some way.” 

Lisa frowned slightly, then realised he was talking about Jackson. Autumn Jackson... Summer Kairos... her eyes fell on the two EODs in the room, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to smother her snort. Alex eyed her warily as he ate his yogurt, and once she was certain she wasn’t about to lose her shit laughing, she nodded at Sonny. “He doesn’t know Jackson’s first name is Autumn, and we need to keep it that way,” she said lowly. The Texan let out a snort-snore, as though aware he was being talked about, and settled once again. 

“Any reason in particular?” Alex asked, eyeing Sonny curiously before looking at her hopefully. “Is this going to be a mess with Quinn reason? Please tell me it’s a mess with Quinn reason.” 

“Summer Kairos, Autumn Jackson, Harry Winters, Mike Springfield,” she replied, motioning Alex closer so she could talk in his ear. “What’s the common factor in those names, and what exactly do you think Mr. Superstitious over there will do when he finds out?” 

A shit eating grin slowly crawled its way onto Alpha 5’s face, and he bumped fists with her. “That right there is why you’re my favourite, Ensign Davis. You have a mean streak a mile wide.” 

She gave a half bow and nudged him towards the shower. “That I do. Now, go get a shower before you find out just how mean I can be.” 

* * *

One moment she’d gone from overseeing three wounded men, two exhausted medics and one grouchy Texan, to suddenly having the remainder of Alpha, Bravo and their two CO’s suddenly in the room, holding their go-bags and takeout. 

They’d kind of just... fallen through the door, but rather than talking and laughing like they usually would, they were all clearly operating off their reserves – their energy just enough to hold them upright. They were filthy, they were sore, they were tired – and they needed someone to guide them, so guide them she did. 

Relieving them of the bags of takeout, Lisa pointed out the bathroom attached to the room, and the other across the hall. Told them to wash up and shower if they needed too – they had their bags, so had fresh clothing ready to change into, which meant she needed a big laundry sack for their soiled gear – and laid out the food. 

As soon as they’d come, they’d gone again; all of them shuffling away on autopilot, and so she did what she’d said she would. Alex came over to assist, as did Tim – but she gave them each a paper plate and told them to take their food and go eat. 

She waved Flynn over her table, and asked him quietly to get the cutlery from the bags and set it aside for the others to grab. The man needed a distraction, something to do with his hands, which she gave him and once he was done she handed him a plate and pointed out that the spicy chicken was supposed to be good. 

He obviously saw through her, but his squeeze to her shoulder before he wandered over to join the two medics proved he was more than okay with it. 

“Thanks for looking out for them,” Blackburn said as he sidled up to her, hands buried in his pockets and his eyes on the trio in the corner. “They’re pretty shaken up, poor guys.”

“Can’t blame them,” she replied, glancing at the group as well. Her heart ached at the silent grief pouring off Flynn and Tim in waves, remembered what it had been like for the families of Echo when they’d lost them all in one go – for Bravo when they’d lost Nate. “Two dead and all but them injured. Delta’s going to look very different after this; its half their team out of commission.”

Blackburn shook his head, his lips twisted in a grimace. “I hate days like this, Lisa – I really do. I know it’s all part of the job, that it’s a risk we all take when we join… but it never gets any easier.”

Turning to her CO, she saw how tired he looked, too. She made a note to keep a closer eye on him, would force him to sleep if it came to that. He’d need the energy to deal with whatever command or the local government threw at him, because she knew him well enough that he would take as much responsibility off Flynn’s shoulders as he could. “We’ll get them through this,” she said. “All of them.”

Blackburn nodded, and motioned for her to grab a plate of her own. She grabbed a small portion, unwilling to eat until the boys had had theirs, but she knew her CO wouldn’t take no for an answer. They shuffled off to another corner and leaned against the wall, their position giving them full view of the room. 

“You heard anything more about the ones in surgery?” She asked, taking a bite of the chicken she’d recommended to Flynn. It was as good as the review said, and she immediately ate some more. 

“Nothing. You?” 

She shook her head, sighed quietly. “So what do we do?” 

“We wait,” her CO said. “All we can do for now is wait.” 

For someone whose life revolved around planning, organising, action… waiting was the worst part. But she nodded, steeled herself and began her vigil. 

“Now we wait.”


	12. Family is Everything

**A/N: Hello all, it's that time of the week again! You know what that means? Story time! No, not drunk I promise. My weirdness (and probably the chocolate I ate earlier) is raring its head again, sorry!**

**Good/bad news - the train is preparing to leave Shithitsthefan-ville - releasing you all so you can return home back to your normal, whump free lives. Not sure when the train is planning to depart, another chapter or so, maybe. BUT! Butbutbut - this is going to be a part of a series (like the stories kinda are already) but we'll get to see more of the aftermath there. It's hard to explain what my plans are until we get to the last chapter here, but never fear - plenty more to come! Woot! Or rather... toot toot!**

**As usual, come screech at me in the comments.**

**Special shout out to[LifeofLaura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeofLaura), [meikej1989](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meikej1989), [Moanin_0h](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moanin_0h), [boo_1997](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boo_1997), [turnitup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnitup), [Muggleborn12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muggleborn12), [SlickesGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlickesGirl), [bluedragonmaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedragonmaid), [Rantsandobliviousness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rantsandobliviousness), [Norwegian_Youth_SOF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Norwegian_Youth_SOF), [Morgan_Jean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgan_Jean), [Owebee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owebee), [DonnaJ66](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DonnaJ66), [illyria13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyria13), [FlutieCutie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlutieCutie), [TinyNinjaWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyNinjaWolf), [Samsam572](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samsam572), [FancyHippopotamoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyHippopotamoose), [Quetzalcoatl_hime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quetzalcoatl_hime), [burn_me_down](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burn_me_down), [KazooKaren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren), [nhardoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhardoy), [ghostwriter_44](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwriter_44), [Raeschiev9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raeschiev9), [ShellyFanFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic), [Hayzkid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hayzkid), [Irish1969](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish1969), [Laura42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura42), [Floopdeedoopdee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floopdeedoopdee), [Eggerthella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggerthella), [purplerain88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplerain88), [blabliblablu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blabliblablu), [TheLaurinchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLaurinchen), [MiaMalfoy716](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaMalfoy716), [CamilleMadeAnAccount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount), [Jemmacatt14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemmacatt14), [Wurdsmadder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wurdsmadder), [NobodyKnowsWhoIAM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobodyKnowsWhoIAM), and [Bastet5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastet5) as well as the 93 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are awesome!**

* * *

Exhaustion was a funny thing. 

The effect it had on the human mind was strange, and yet many thrived off the edge it gave them – constantly teetering in that grey zone of weird alertness and complete inability to function. Hallucinations, conversations that didn’t happen, double vision, aching eyes, butter fingers… all things Trent had suffered through before, and all easily ignored and overridden once again. 

They were so familiar that when he looked up and saw familiar faces heading towards him, he just stared – felt his eyes burning and shrugged it off as his imagination; figured they’d walk past him, do the can-can or something equally ridiculous, and would fade as they had the last two times he’d seen them. 

But then mirage-Jason crouched in front of him and grabbed his shoulder – and suddenly mirage-Jason became Jason-Jason, and he closed his eyes, taking comfort in the fact that his brothers were finally here. 

“Hey Trent,” Jason said, his smile sympathetic, and Trent knew he must look like death warmed over if the concern emanating from his boss was anything to go by. “How’re you doing?” 

“Peachy,” he huffed, lips quirking when Jason rolled his eyes. “When’d you get here?” 

Here, being the private hospital Doc had organised for them the moment the surgeons at Tenerife decided his brothers injuries were too complex for them to successfully treat.

It wasn’t that they couldn’t treat them, as such – technically they could. But with how little time they had to spend on them, with so many others needing help it had been a no-brainer to get them to better care on the mainland. As soon as they were stabilized, helicopters had taken their three critically wounded to the Southern airport where they were loaded onto a medical jet and airborne before Trent had been able to fully strap in. 

When they’d landed, Goyle and Benji had been there to meet them, and they’d stuck to their group like glue ever since – something he probably had Lisa to thank for. The two ops lads had taken charge - also something he probably had Lisa to thank for - and he and Danny had been given hot food, drinks and showers when they got to the hospital before they were the shown to the waiting room in the ward that the pair had organized for their wounded post-op.

Said pair were currently locked in yet another intense game of twelve by twelve naughts-and-crosses a few seats down, and had kept up a running commentary of heckling and swearing that had filled in the silence. Danny had disappeared some time ago, and now his team was here. Glancing at the clock, he could see it’d been a few hours since he’d sat down and apparently zoned out. Man, he’d lost some time. 

“Landed about thirty minutes ago,” Jason replied, taking the seat beside him. “Blackburn arranged for the EODs to be admitted while we waited, and we had to organise a safe place to put Sam and Reece before we could get to this floor. Sorry we couldn’t get here faster.” 

He shook his head, smiled tiredly as Ray bumped fists with him before settling in a chair opposite him. Clay and Sonny did the same, and Alpha waved as they set up around the table in the corner with bags of skittles and cards. Evidently, they’d found a shop to raid if the amount and size of the bags were anything to go by – and were now settling in for the long haul. 

Then there was Cerberus. How they’d gotten him in, he had no idea. But the Malanois sat in front of him and placed a paw on his knee, whining softly. Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to Cerberus’ head and gave him a scratch behind the ears. “I dunno how he is, bud,” he murmured. “Sorry.” 

As though he understood - which Trent had no doubt that he did – the Malagator hopped onto the seat beside him and curled up as close as he could get, resting his head on his thigh. He buried his fingers in the dog’s fur, rubbing gently – giving Cerberus the comfort he so clearly wanted, and taking the offered comfort in return. 

“No update then?” Jason asked, grabbing Trent’s attention again. He’d forgotten his boss was beside him, let alone had asked him a question in the first place. Wait, had he? Memory said no – but he could be wrong? He had no fucking clue, quite frankly. Yeah... he was tired. 

“Uh…” 

“A surgeon came out about an hour ago, wanted to talk to one of them,” Goyle said, and they all turned to look at the man who was scowling at his game. “Danny told Trent to stay put, said he’d take care of - fuck’s sake, Benji,” he added, glaring in disgust at his smirking colleague. “Danny said he’d sort it. I can go get him, if you want.” 

Shit, had he? Trent searched his memory – found nothing that confirmed what Goyle had said. However considering the state of said memory at the moment, he was inclined to believe him. 

“Worth it, you think?” Ray muttered, but he was looking at Blackburn, not him, so Trent left it to those who were actually functioning at present. A club he was not currently a member of, and probably wouldn’t be for some time. “Someone must know something by now.” 

“I’ll find him,” Goyle replied, apparently making the decision for Blackburn and stretching as he stood. “‘sides, this asshole keeps cheating so it gives me a reason to walk away from the game.” 

“You’re the one who can’t play, Gargoyle,” Benji snickered, standing and stretching as well. “I’ll go with.” 

Without so much as a by your leave, the pair were wandering off down the hall. Trent snorted softly when he heard Blackburn mutter something about ops people under his breath as his CO also took a seat, and allowed himself the chance to relax in the presence of his family. With them now here, it meant he wasn’t alone anymore. 

“How’re the EODs?” he asked quietly. Jason had said they’d been admitted, but beyond that he had no idea how they were – having been preoccupied with Brock’s surgery when they were undergoing their own he hadn’t received any updates. He felt bad, and knew he should check in on them, but he couldn’t convince himself to leave his vigil until he knew his best friend would be okay. 

As if by magic, a piece of paper was in front of his face. He gave Lisa a smile as he took it, and found a concise summary of each bomb expert in Alex’s familiar scrawl. Kairos had two broken legs which luckily hadn’t required plating to realign thanks to the breaks being clean, a suspected concussion – which he’d be receiving a scan for shortly – three fractured vertebrae and had suffered internal bleeding which had been fixed but was to be monitored closely over the next forty eight hours.

Jackson also had a concussion – the severity of which was yet to be determined, three broken and two fractured ribs, and her spleen had ruptured. Her left elbow had dislocated, as had her shoulder, and she’d broken her left wrist and the collarbone was broken that side also. 

Winters had been fortunate to get off lightly, with just a concussion, four broken ribs and a fracture to his right ankle after their ordeal. There was however extensive bruising to his back, and the doctors were going to run a scan once the swelling had gone down a bit to make sure there weren’t any hidden surprises. 

Springfield had a broken collarbone, right wrist and two ribs, plus a further three were cracked, and he also had an open fracture on his shin. There was no evident sign of a concussion, but as the man hadn’t regained consciousness at all prior to his surgery, he was also booked for a scan to determine if there was any specific reason for it. 

All in all, with a good aftercare program in place there was no reason any of the injuries would be career ending. He’d have to remember to thank Alex when he saw him; doctors speak was the last thing his brain had needed to process, and the medic had evidently known that when he’d written everything down. 

“They’ve kipped out in the EODs room,” Lisa said when he handed the paper back, her mind reading tricks at work once again. “They need the rest, as do you.” 

“You do look like crap, T,” Jason agreed, slinging his arm around his shoulders and giving him a side hug. “Why don’t you go join them, get some shut eye. We got this.” 

He appreciated the offer, he really did. But he couldn’t - not when Brock was still in surgery and fighting for his life. 

The flight to Madrid had been awful. He’d seen some horrific injuries during his time on the team; both to people he didn’t know, and to himself or his brothers. But sitting on that plane, watching the ventilator breathe for Brock because he was unable to do it himself – watching the sluggish stats hold for the entire trip, had nearly left him a nervous wreck; the sight bringing back a feeling of déjà vu – and not in a good way.

It hadn’t been so long ago that he was hunched over his best friend, desperately pumping oxygen into his lungs in the back of the C-17 as they tried to revive him after the cluster fuck of Venezuela – hadn’t been so long ago that he was begging the brunet to _‘breathe, Brock – please just breathe.’_ That mission had been awful, and traumatizing, and it had only been thanks to a therapist and his brothers that he’d come out the other side stronger.

But this wasn’t then. He hadn’t had a group of doctors at his disposal – hadn’t had much in the way of medical supplies if they were needed. This was him and Danny, in the back of a medical jet, crammed in with three stretchers and hardly any room to move if things went wrong.

Which had only made it feel ten times worse.

By whatever miracle Brock was apparently blessed with, his stats held steady for the whole flight. Sluggish, slow – not what they should be, but they’d stayed. Wilson and Banks’ vitals hadn’t been much better, and he was half expecting one of the three to crash at any moment – mid-flight and too far from help. Danny had reassured him once or twice that they were all holding in there, and while they had been at the time, he hadn’t expected it to last.

Last it did, and there was no way to describe just how grateful he was that it had. When they landed, he’d checked his phone on the ride to the hospital – found it flooded with messages both from his brothers telling him they were on their way, and his family asking if he’d heard about Tenerife; then more panicked ones asking if Bravo were there and if so, were they alright.

He could feel the worry and concern from each of those messages, and they’d only made him feel worse. Yeah, he was fine, but his brother wasn’t - something he wasn’t quite willing to admit to them just yet. 

“I’m good,” he replied, rubbing his eyes. “Promise.” 

“You look like death warmed over, dude,” Sonny countered, further confirming Trent’s suspicions about his state of appearance. “Breath’a wind could knock you down.” 

“I’m fine.” No he wasn’t, not by a long shot, but the thought of sleeping right now… 

Jason nudged him, and he looked down – found a folded, bloodied piece of paper being offered to him. “What’s this?” 

“Davis found it in Brock’s Unofficial Official Pocket,” Jason said quietly. “You need to read it.”

Curious, and more than a little apprehensive, Trent unfolded it and found his best friend’s familiar handwriting - felt his eyes sting from pain and amusement the more he read. 

_The fact I have to do this is ridiculous, quite frankly, but I know you all too well that this has to be written. Like you, I’m praying that this situation has a positive outcome, I really am, but the more we’re briefed the bigger the shit show this appears to be. Don’t worry, my eyes and ears are open for everything – I’m not going into this blind. I wouldn’t deserve to be where I am if I did. My understanding is you’re still a few hours behind us, so whatever happens from here on out is not your fault. Got it? Understood? Good. There is literally nothing you could have done to change the outcome of what I suspect will happen._

_On that note:_

_Jase, shit happens. I’m 99.9% certain you were plotting death and destruction when you found out I was spun up – I swear I thought you knew when I saw you, and just forgot to say anything. The epiphany I had a few hours ago that you didn’t was enough to teach me my lesson. So, yeah. Please don’t ground me._

_Ray, no matter what happens, don’t lose your faith. Not again, not over whatever this is about to be – and I imagine it’ll be something pretty bloody crazy. You’re Bravo’s balance, and they’ll need you just as much as you need them. What’s that blond chick on that Disney movie say? Conceal, don’t feel? Yeah, don’t do that. Give your family a hug for me; I imagine the kids will have some hard questions about it all, but I know you and Naima will handle it perfectly like usual._

_Sonny, this isn’t on you. I would’ve been spun up regardless of whether you punched me. If I can, I will make you pay for that, by the way, and you will suck it up and take it in whatever form I deliver. But seriously, I ain’t holding a grudge, so you need to release that anger in a constructive way. If this goes how I think it will, please behave. Do it for me. And no, that doesn’t mean buy the goddamn strip joint like you’ve been promising lately. Bravo would never see you if you did._

_Clay, trust me when I say that you have an incredible career ahead of you. Do what you feel is best for you – not what others say you should. State 21 – go all in if that’s what you think is the way forward. Stay an operator - you’ll be leading the best team out there and regaling the remaining old farts with stories of your greenies. I’m proud of you either way, little brother. I also expect you to pull some epic pranks in my honour, if that’s what this comes to. I also want you to take Cerberus. You’re the only one he’ll fully trust, and I think he deserves his retirement if this goes pear-shape. If, God forbid, his injuries are too severe, and I haven’t made it, then I’m begging you to do the right thing by my boy. It’ll be hard, but I’d rather him pain free than physically suffering and not knowing where I’ve gone._

_Trent. This isn’t on you. None of it is. Jase is our guide, Ray’s our balance, Sonny our strength, Clay our stamina (the little shit) and you’re our heart – your care for all of us is astounding, and I don’t want you to drive yourself away from your family because you feel like you should’ve done more. You couldn’t have, and I know that as well as I know you’re going to beat yourself up. You, brother, are one of my best friend’s and I’m grateful that I had you in my life, like I’m grateful I had all of you, but you’re the brother I never had. If this goes badly; grieve. Grieve, rage – do whatever you have too, then rejoin our brothers. If you can’t do it for you, do it for me. It’s easier knowing you’ve got them watching your back, then trying to picture you without them. You’ve never been a quitter, so don’t start now._

_Lisa, Eric, Mandy – this isn’t on you either. We specialise in FUBAR situations, like Flynn said. The intel is as in-depth as it can be, so we just have to trust it so we can get the job done. Working with you guys has been amazing, and I thank you for what you’ve done for me over the years. Look out for the guys, keep ‘em on the straight and narrow for me._

_If things do go south, tell my family I love them, and that I’ve died doing the job I love. Look out for them, they’ll need you._

_I love you all – you’re my family. Pain in the asses, infuriating shits you all are, but I love each and every one of you. I’ll catch you on the flip side, whichever side that may be._

_p.s. if I do survive this, then yay. I’d be embarrassed about the letter, but its all true._

_p.p.s. If I do survive this, Lisa you’re amazing but my phone is the biggest piece of crap I’ve ever had the displeasure of having in my life, and the reason no one has heard from me today. I want a new one. Don’t throw the other one away though, because I’m planning on strapping the biggest brick of C4 I can find to it and blowing it to smithereens. If I don’t survive, do it for me and tell me about it._

Trent buried his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking from grief and laughter. Only Brock would finish a heartfelt letter by griping about something as trivial as a damn phone. Multiple hands rested on his back and head, and he drew from the comfort his team, his _family_ , offered.

This right here, was what Brock had referred too.

The brunet knew him so damn well – because he had absolutely blamed himself for his best friend’s state; knew deep down that this entry in the book would likely be the last. Brock knew him, and had told him not to – had assured him that none of this was on him. He knew that, he did, but Brock had been talking about it not being his fault when they were still several hours behind; not within screaming distance.

The fact that he saw the explosion happen, was _so close_ yet so far, confused his emotions – one minute he felt like he was responsible for not being on the ground with the others, with Brock, ready to help – and the next he knew there hadn’t been any hope in hell he could’ve changed what happened.

It was something that would take time to work through, but he would. For Brock. For Bravo. For himself.

“You all good, T?”

He looked up, found the others watching him with concern; Clay and Jason slightly red-eyed – recollection of the letter evidently getting to them too.

“Yeah I’m good,” he rasped, then swallowed to clear his throat. “Just… damn annoying, how well he knows us.” He looked at his MC. “You gunna ground him?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely he’s grounded,” Jason retorted, looking both peeved and amused. “If it had just been a scratch then I’da let him off, but winding up in hospital? Again?! Nuh uh – he’s not allowed out of Bravo’s eyeline for at least six months.”

Trent huffed a breath. Good, that meant he didn’t have to ground Brock himself, and wouldn’t be worried sick anytime he turned his back on the brunet.

“It’s annoying; kid has given us our ‘meaning’ to Bravo, yet he didn’t include himself,” Ray huffed, shaking his head. “He’s written that as though he doesn’t have his own place on our team, which is bullshit. He’s -” the second cut himself off and sat up straighter, eyes on the corridor to their left.

Turning, Trent saw Danny coming towards them and he was on his feet immediately. He wanted to know the end of Ray’s sentence, would shake it out of the man if he had too, but his need to hear from Danny was slightly more pressing. “How are they?” he asked before his colleague could even open his mouth. “Do you have any news?”

Danny looked at him, bemused. “They’re all alive, still,” he said, answering the question. “For the extent of their injuries, they’re doing remarkably well. I’ve left Goyle and Benji watching over them; they’ll let me know if anything changes.

“What’s the damage?” Blackburn asked, and Trent realised that it would be the first in-depth explanation of the injuries his commander had received for any of them. He hoped everyone was ready, because they weren’t going to like what they were about to hear.

Danny shared a look with him, and his expression told Trent he was thinking the same thing. “Troy’s got bruised kidneys, two blown discs, a severe concussion, dislocated right shoulder, broken left arm and four fractured back ribs,” the medic started. “The docs are still trying to repair the damage from the rebar that went through his thigh, but they said we need to be prepared that he won’t regain full mobility. There’s every likelihood that he won’t be able to operate once he’s released.”

There were several curses at that, and Trent nodded. He’d reacted much the same at the other hospital when it was first mentioned, but was holding onto hope, as slim as it may be, for Delta 1’s full recovery.

“Because of how close he was to the plane, Kit’s suffered blown eardrums,” Danny continued, effectively silencing the others. “He’s also broken his left leg, got a severe concussion, broken four ribs and cracked three others. His right wrist is fractured, he’s got four cracked vertebrae and a piece of rebar took a gouge out of his thigh. They’re more optimistic about his recovery, but it will be a long road. Man, I feel like I’m reciting a shopping list,” Danny muttered, and despite the seriousness, Trent snorted. It sounded a bit like that, to be fair.

“What about Brock?” Sonny asked, his tone and expression impatient. “How’s he doin’? He’ll pull through this, yeah?”

Danny exhaled heavily, shoulders slumping slightly. “Because he’s Brock, he hasn’t done things by halves, that’s for damn sure. Like we established on site, he’s got blown eardrums, and the doctors suspect – and I say suspect because they can’t confirm until he gets a scan, which won’t be until after his surgery – that the blindness from earlier is a result of the concussion. Long story short, the swelling is likely pushing on the optic nerves, which is restricting the blood flow. The only reason no one else has suffered the same is because no one else has been conscious so we don’t actually know if they have, so prepare yourselves that we might have multiple cases. The only other reason they have is burned retinas, which woulda happened if he was looking directly at the explosion, but both should _hopefully_ be temporary, regardless of which one it was.

“Aside from that, there was the rebar through his side which nicked his spleen and intestine, but they’ve repaired and cleaned all that, there’s the open shin fracture, he broke his collarbone and dislocated his left shoulder. He’s got three broken ribs, one of which must’ve shifted when he did and caused his lung to collapsed. Then there’s the slash across his abdomen and bullet wound on his thigh – both superficial and going to be the least of his worries, when all’s said and done.”

Danny shook his head, and looked completely exasperated. “Honestly - I feel like if there was a bingo card for injuries, Brock would’ve just scored them all.”

Clay, for whatever reason, suddenly choked on air – which resulted in a coughing fit and Sonny thumping him on the back while the rest of them just stared. As the sniper waved Sonny off, telling them all he was fine, Trent noticed the smile that his youngest brother was trying desperately to hide and made a note to ask about it later. Evidently he found something funny about the situation, which - why? - so he was going to find out just what it was.

Although if Clay was amused by Brock’s injuries, then it was undoubtedly related to some inside joke between the pair, so he wondered if he really wanted to know.

Lisa handed the medic a bottle of water and a chocolate bar, which he took with a smile. “They’re not out of the woods yet – they’ve still got a while to go in surgery, but I think we can be cautiously optimistic that they’ll make it one way or another.”

* * *

After Danny’s update, everyone kind of… dispersed.

Lisa and Blackburn had gone down the corridor; Lisa to fill Tim, Alex and Flynn in with the notes Danny had given her, and Blackburn so he could report into Lindell. Sonny had gone with them, but quickly returned with more bags of skittles so Bravo could buy into Alpha’s poker match that had been paused during Danny’s report, and had since resumed. The thought that they really ought to get actual poker chips they could bring with them on missions popped up, and he hoped he’d remember it when all was said and done so he could ask Lisa for some. One, it was healthier than the constant consumption of balls of flavoured sugar and two, they wouldn’t be spending a small fortune every time they wanted to play. 

Jason and Ray were filling out what appeared to be their AARs, and Clay was dozing next to him, having allowed him to change the dressings on his arm. The nurse had done well, her work neat and tidy, so it was just a case of keeping it clean so infection didn’t set in.

Danny had disappeared back the way he came, and Trent had planned on following but the medic told him he looked like crap, and wasn’t going anywhere until he’d slept. Then he sent Goyle and Benji back to make sure he did.

He was not amused.

So here he was, lounging on a chair, fingers stroking Cerberus absentmindedly and too keyed up to sleep.

His eyes were on the poker match, and he was contemplating joining them but the looks Goyle and Benji were giving him screamed ‘ _do it, I dare you’_ \- so the desire to join in was waylaid by the threat of the two Ops boys doing something drastic to make sure he followed Danny’s orders. Trying to relax was also proving to be somewhat impossible because Clay had apparently decided he was now uncomfortable - shifting beside him for the fifth time in less than two minutes. Rolling his head along the wall so he could glare at his younger brother, he flicked the blond’s ear when he shifted _yet again_ with a disgruntled huff.

“Whaddid you do that for?” Clay whined, eyes shooting open as he rubbed his ear. “Ow Trent.”

“Did you want me smack you on your bullet wound?” he asked, tone mild. Clay clapped a hand over the bandage, looking at him with wide eyes. “That’s what I thought. It’s kinda hard to relax when you’re constantly moving,” he grumbled – rolling his eyes when his unofficial jailers looked over, before looking away again. Yep – still sitting and still awake, guys!

“The chairs aren’t comfy,” Clay grumbled, moving to fold his arms then wincing when he pulled at his stitches. “Why the hell do hospitals insist on these torture devices?”

“One, they’re padded armchairs – be grateful they’re not plastic. Two - if you’re that uncomfortable go use the bed.” The one Danny had ordered him too, but he’d chosen to ignore. “Seriously Spense, you’re doing my head in.”

Clay grunted and stood, but rather than leaving he stripped off his jacket and set it on the seat before plonking himself onto it. Apparently that was all it took, because he stopped moving about. Trent took it as a victory, and faced forwards again, closing his eyes and willing his body to relax.

“Do you think Brock will be okay?”

He tried not to sigh aloud at that. The kid evidently wanted reassurance – which he couldn’t give right now – but he also knew Clay wouldn’t accept a sugar coated answer, either. Chewing the inside of his lip, he considered how best to frame what they were facing. “If he doesn’t have any setbacks with infection, and these surgeons are as good as Doc says, then there should be no reason he doesn’t make a full recovery. But Clay, it’ll take _months_ of rehab before we can even assume he’ll be cleared to operate again. His concussion could be severe enough that he’s left with the effects for the rest of his life.”

It was a bitter pill to give, let alone swallow. Truth of the matter was, Bravo could be changed permanently if Brock’s injuries sidelined him for good. “We all need to be prepared that we’ll be without him on Bravo for a long time, if we get him back at all.” Clay’s shoulders slumped, and he tousled his hair. “We’ll be there for him, regardless of what happens,” he promised the young sniper. “Injured or not, Brock is stubborn enough that he’ll find a way to kick our asses five ways to Sunday. You know he will.”

“I know,” Clay agreed quietly. “Just… sucks is all.”

“Yeah it does.” Clay sighed again, and Trent couldn’t help but smile fondly at that. Bravo’s youngest two somehow, always, found ways to get into mischief when they were together. While Clay spent most of his time with Sonny, his time with Brock was best not asked about because they’d often sport a vast array of bruises and shit-eating grins whenever they arrived back at base. To potentially be without his partner in crime was undoubtedly hard to face, but he knew without a doubt that Bravo or no, the pair would be back to their old tricks soon enough.

“I was meaning to ask, what made you choke before?” he asked quietly, tone casual but he knew immediately that it was going to be interesting by the way the blond went completely, utterly still. “Clay.”

“Um… I breathed wrong?”

Trent looked at Clay. Clay looked at Trent. When Trent raised an eyebrow at him, putting on his ‘answer or so help me I will maim you’ expression the blond looked around furtively before pulling out his phone.

“You can’t tell the others,” Clay muttered, his expression pleading. “Brock’ll kill me if he finds out anyone knows, plus I’ll lose – and that’s not fair when I know you’ll make my life a living hell if I don’t tell you.”

Trent nodded at that. He absolutely would. “C’mon, spill.”

Clay tapped at the screen, and handed it over silently. He didn’t even get past the header before he was looking at his brother incredulously. “Are you serious?”

“In our defense, we were drunk at the time,” Clay argued, but his defensiveness was offset by the mirth in his eyes as he stared at the screen. Evidently, he and Brock had shared a number of laughs over this and it was a good memory, regardless of the contents.

Already regretting his insistence for an answer, Trent heaved a sigh and looked at the screen again – rolling his eyes at the size stupid red font that said ‘Bravo Bingo’ at the top.

There were six pages in all. One for Bravo 1 through to 5, and a combined one for Lisa, Mandy and Blackburn. Opening Jason’s, he found a selection of quotes, expressions, injuries and actions they could tick off on their boss’s card, and figured the rest of theirs were much the same. He too choked on air when he saw The Eyebrows of Disappointment™ and The Puckered Face of Doom™ as achievable squares on the card – and could see that both were marked green, along with the date they’d been completed. The Eyebrows had multiple dates of accomplishment, whereas The Face had only been marked off today.

“Jesus Christ,” he sighed. “You two are hopeless.”

“Geniuses, more like,” Clay countered haughtily. “Gimme.”

He handed the phone back, shaking his head. As tempting as it was to look at his own card, he didn’t want to ruin his brothers fun by giving either of them an unfair advantage. “How many squares have you ticked off Brock’s bingo card today?”

Clay looked at his phone and Trent couldn’t believe the blond was actually counting. The question had been a sarcastic one, but evidently the joke was on him if there were that many to go through. “Um, four for Brock – pissing Jase off, breaking a bone on an op, getting a concussion and getting shot, two for Jase and… uh… one for, well. You.”

He glared at his brother, who was trying and failing to look innocent. “And what was mine?”

“Threatening bodily harm.”

“I did n-” he paused, then grunted. Fuck it all. He had done so just before. The fact that Brock and Clay knew them all well enough to make bingo cards for each of them was ridiculous, but he kinda couldn’t blame them if everyone was as predictable as they appeared. “How long has this been going on?”

“Five months, give or take. But this round started two weeks ago,” Clay said nonchalantly. “I beat Brock by three squares last time, so he had to shout my drinks at the pub. We changed a couple squares up this time round, as it was too easy to fill Jase and Sonny’s cards.”

He remembered the night that Brock had paid for Clay’s drinks – how the brunet had rolled his eyes and said he’d lost a bet, and that he prayed the kid puked a few drinks in so he didn’t end up out of pocket. Clay hadn’t puked, and Brock had been out of pocket by several hundred dollars. To be fair, that was because Brock had matched the blond drink for drink and Trent had had to carry both their sorry asses home to make sure they didn’t asphyxiate overnight. “What -”

“Oi! Bam Bam, you want in?”

They both looked at the Texan who was staring at them expectantly. Trent knew he hadn’t been invited for a reason, and glowered at his two guards who were watching him once again. Nope, not planning on going anywhere assholes, despite the fact it would help him pass the time until the sandman decided to pay him a visit – which he prayed was with a sledgehammer to make him sleep.

“Um…”

Clay chewed his lip, glanced at Trent as though he wasn’t sure whether to abandon him or not. Before Trent could tell the blond that it was fine – that he might actually fall asleep with him not there – there was a snort of laughter from Alpha 1 which meant he didn’t have to bother.

“Course he’s not gunna join,” Metal said, and Trent sighed. Whatever the man was about to say, would get the blond at the table in a heartbeat. “Pansy ass little bitch doesn’t like being spanked at poker. Leave him alone, Quinn.”

There was a thud as Clay stood suddenly, the chair back knocking into the wall and Trent rolled his eyes. There it was. 

“You suck at anything that isn’t pick up 52, Metal,” Clay retorted, stomping over. “Deal me in ladies. It’s time someone taught this bitch a lesson.”

Clay smacked Metal over the head on his way past while Alpha all catcalled his attempt to insult their boss, and Trent snorted softly at the thumbs up Scott gave him out of Clay’s view. With the blond now occupied, he’d stand a chance of getting some sleep. He’d have to remember to thank the man when he could.

Leaning into his chair and shifting to make himself more comfortable, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, focused on trying to unwind each muscle, release the tension and all that crap.

He doubted it would, but hopefully sleep would find him soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Bravo Bingo. Just because it'll be hilarious to see your thoughts, what do you think should be on the boys cards??


	13. Home

**A/N: Hello all! Sorry for the day's delay. Yesterday... man, yesterday wasn't a good day. I lost a close family friend that I've known since I was 2 - so 25 years - to Motor Neurone Disease. He had the worst form of it, and once diagnosed your life expectancy is 1-2 years. He went from someone who was mobile, healthy and so full of life to unable to eat, talk, move... do anything. He's at peace now, and without pain... but this is just another blow to an already crappy year. I'd been hoping to see him in May when I was supposed to go home to see my parents, but lockdown prevented that.**

**Yeah. It's been pretty hard.**

**Sorry to start with a bit of a downer, but the reason for posting that is that it's influenced the start of the next chapter. Funny thing is, I'd already started writing that section before I got the news, but it's definitely had more grief behind it than any of the previous sections that got people a bit emotional! Guess that's my outlet for now...**

**As for this chapter... not sure why, but Jason's section fought me quite a bit. I'm happy with it, but second guessing myself at the same time. I read it, and it feels a bit rambly to me... but that's probably because I've changed it multiple times! Anyway, as usual I can't wait to see what you guys think!**

**Special shout out to[Hockey_92](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hockey_92), [marinka1836](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marinka1836), [Countrygirl83](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Countrygirl83), [LifeofLaura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeofLaura), [meikej1989](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meikej1989), [Moanin_0h](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moanin_0h), [boo_1997](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boo_1997), [turnitup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnitup), [Muggleborn12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muggleborn12), [SlickesGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlickesGirl), [bluedragonmaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedragonmaid), [Rantsandobliviousness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rantsandobliviousness), [Norwegian_Youth_SOF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Norwegian_Youth_SOF), [Morgan_Jean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgan_Jean), [Owebee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owebee), [DonnaJ66](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DonnaJ66), [illyria13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyria13), [FlutieCutie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlutieCutie), [TinyNinjaWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyNinjaWolf), [Samsam572](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samsam572), [FancyHippopotamoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyHippopotamoose), [Quetzalcoatl_hime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quetzalcoatl_hime), [burn_me_down](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burn_me_down), [KazooKaren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren), [nhardoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhardoy), [ghostwriter_44](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwriter_44), [Raeschiev9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raeschiev9), [ShellyFanFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic), [Hayzkid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hayzkid), [Irish1969](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish1969), [Laura42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura42), [Floopdeedoopdee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floopdeedoopdee), [Eggerthella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggerthella), [purplerain88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplerain88), [blabliblablu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blabliblablu), [TheLaurinchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLaurinchen), [MiaMalfoy716](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaMalfoy716), [CamilleMadeAnAccount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount), [Jemmacatt14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemmacatt14), [Wurdsmadder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wurdsmadder), [NobodyKnowsWhoIAM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobodyKnowsWhoIAM), and [Bastet5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastet5) as well as the 103 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are awesome!**

**As usual, come screech at me in the comments!**

* * *

**Virginia Beach Naval Hospital – three weeks post-Tenerife**

The doors to the hospital slid open, and Jason was hit with a wall of warmth as he entered, the rapid change in temperatures unexpected enough that it made him shiver. After being slapped in the face with frigid air the moment he opened his front door the heat was welcome – although he knew that it would force him out of his jacket sooner rather than later. 

Whatever. It didn’t take all that long to get to where he was going - five hundred and thirty two steps, three floors up via the elevator and four right turns, to be exact. The fact that he knew that still irritated the hell out of him. Clay’s boredom had gotten the better of him a week ago, which resulted in the sniper walking the path from the entrance to Brock’s room four times to count the steps – this was unbeknownst to the rest of them at the time, they just thought he was being a weirdo – before announcing to them all upon his final return that it took five hundred and eighty one steps to get to Brock’s doorway, in case any of them wanted to know. 

He hadn’t – not in the slightest. But for a reason he still couldn’t quite comprehend, Jason had found himself counting his steps the next time he’d arrived at the hospital using the step counting app Mikey had downloaded for him - because he wasn’t stupid – and ended up with a different number to the sniper. That then led to Ray and Sonny counting theirs – Trent had refused on the grounds of not actually being an idiot, but he knew full well the medic would’ve also counted his steps at some point – and the four of them had ended up locked in a fierce debate over who was right until Trent threw them out of the room for the rest of the day. 

Eventually they’d agreed to disagree – but he knew his number was right, regardless of what his idiot brothers said. He shook himself free of the irritation that once again flared up, refusing to revisit that ridiculous afternoon and argument, and saluted the nurse who greeted him with his coffee as he wandered past, before sidestepping Janitor Joe who he held a door open for. 

As he turned the first corner, he noted absentmindedly that the vending machine had been restocked, and there was a new hunting magazine on the table next to it that he’d probably end up pilfering later. Then he groaned when he realized it spoke volumes to how often he’d been here in the past two weeks if he was picking up on details such as those. 

It still begged belief just how quickly the time had gone – the first week seemingly moving at a snail’s pace while they sat and waited in Madrid for permission to take their wounded home the moment the last surgery had finished, while the last two flew by after they were cleared to depart. It was strange that their week abroad had dragged on, considering Madrid should’ve offered ample opportunities for them to get out and explore the city - and technically it did, but with their brothers still critical no one had felt up to doing much of anything. 

Making matters worse, the media had gotten wind of their presence and had camped outside of the hospital in the hopes of ambushing them for statements. It had been expected, according to Lisa – C-17’s weren’t the most inconspicuous of aircraft, and two of them at the international airport was a bit of a giveaway that they were still in town. When a shaky, grainy video emerged from who knew where, showing them arriving on the scene moments after the airport blew it had been game over – the world’s media knowing that the American Navy had somehow, for some reason, been involved. 

Then, just like they’d had no idea where the video had come from, they’d had no idea how they’d been tracked to the private hospital; but the media had pinpointed their location, and they had demanded answers. Repeatedly and loudly. 

So not only had they been unwilling to leave because of their brothers – but they’d been unable to in case a reporter got their microphone where it shouldn’t be. The thought of walking around Madrid with the media hovering like vultures, ready to go in for the kill? Yeah. No. Blackburn had made it clear they weren’t going anywhere while the reporters lingered to avoid yet another public incident. 

A joint statement from the US Military, the Spanish Government and MI6 had been released with minimal, but factual information about the events that had taken place at Tenerife to try and stem the rumours and get the media off their back, but it hadn’t worked – if anything, it had made them hungrier for more. 

He shook his head at that. Goddamn vultures had, as usual, focused on the wrong people. They’d been so desperate to talk to the people who had been at the scene after the explosion, wanting their thoughts with as many gory details as possible for a good headline that they hadn’t concentrated on doing something useful with their time – like helping the victims and their families. For the sake of their five second soundbite, they’d forsaken their humanity. 

Surprising absolutely no one, the attack on Tenerife was still the hot topic of conversation weeks after occuring. Speculation and conspiracy theories were bandied about like nobody’s business; stations reporting breaking developments just to get a bit of extra attention from their gullible viewers. 

And that was one of his biggest gripes about the whole thing - they were false developments. 

Much to Mandy’s ever growing frustration, no one had stepped up to claim the attack, which meant no one was any closer to identifying who was responsible, nor their motives. It wasn’t because they were all dead – she’d grimly reassured them of that; based on the non-stop chatter they were intercepting, the mastermind was still alive and well - but that was the extent of it.

From what the intelligence community could tell, the people responsible had no intention of coming forward, nor were they doing anything beyond celebrating a job well done, which was panicking more than a few people. 

It was harder to fight shadows, but Mandy had been adamant that one way or another, they’d drag them into the light. 

His phone pinged, and swapping his coffee to the other hand so he could get to his pocket, he checked it; heart swelling at the message from his daughter. 

**_Good luck today. Tell Uncle Brock I’m thinking of him, and will visit as soon as this semester ends. My shout for ice cream._**

He fired off a **_‘will do, thanks kiddo’_** and pocketed the device again. Today. Today was going to be a lot of things, and stressful was certainly going to be one of them. 

Today was the day the doctors were going to wake Brock. 

After their operations, the surgeons had made the decision to keep Brock and Wilson in induced comas to give their bodies time to recover without any added stress, and so they could ensure anything they’d repaired stayed that way. It hadn’t been ideal, and Danny and Trent had been torn about it, but the payoff was apparently going to be higher for the two SEALs in the long run. 

So induced the pair had stayed, and when their vitals and progress had remained steady the entire week the doctors had weaned them off their coma-inducing drugs; but swapped them out for drugs that would keep them sedated for the flight home. 

It had been hard seeing Brock the way he was, memories of his hospital stay after Venezuela resurfacing – but those memories, those _injuries_ were mild in comparison to what Bravo’s mountain goat had suffered this time. He looked awful – skin still black and blue from the deeper bruises, motley yellow for the shallower ones. His normally tanned skin had that awful paleness to it from the lack of sunlight and life, and he was swamped in bandages to protect the nastier wounds. 

At one stage during the flight when the others were fast asleep or otherwise preoccupied, he’d held one of Brock’s lax hands in his own, just held it as he told himself that the injuries looked worse than they were – that Brock would be back to trying to give him heart failure in the near future, and with Brock back where he belonged Bravo would be whole again. 

Bravo’s soul would be back. 

Because that’s what Brock was to their team. He hadn’t labelled what he was in his letter to them – whether because he knew what it was, or didn’t believe he had a ‘category’, and Jason was leaning heavily to it being the second option – Brock was the soul of their team. Quietly dependable, quick on his feet and with his thinking, fierce as a lion and yet incredibly caring by nature – Bravo 5 was what held them together and he’d be damned if he was losing his little brother without a proper fight. 

When they’d arrived home and gotten their wounded – all seven of them – settled, Kit had been allowed to wake, Brock had not. He’d nearly had a conniption over it, but as Brock’s eardrums were still healing, and the confirmed pressure on his optic nerves still going down, Doc had told him outright that it was cruel to make Brock suffer through being unable to see or hear, so unconscious he would stay until they had evidence that at least one of his two senses had returned. 

Today was that day. 

Two long but busy weeks later, Doc had finally decided that Brock’s eardrums were healed enough that the ear protection could come off, and that he could finally wake. They were busy because during the two weeks that his brother slept, the EODs had been released from hospital into the care of their families, Troy and Wilson had both been woken with Troy going on medical leave – apparently Lindell’s doing – and they’d buried their fallen brothers the moment the pair were cleared to attend. 

It had been hard for Delta, harder even on their K-9 handler who had five of his brothers board the C-17, and only three return; but it had given them all a tiny bit of closure after such a tumultuous week. 

All the AARs had been completed and submitted, and they, along with Alpha and whoever from Delta wished to see it, had been permitted to watch the body camera footage to see exactly what went down in the terminal. The techies had done a good job stringing the videos together, and together with the audio they’d been left with no doubt as to what had happened in that building. 

It hadn’t been pretty, that was for damn sure – watching civilians get mowed down as the SEALs fought the terrorists, as Sam got shot and Tim evacuated him from the building with Brock’s help – it was a stark reminder how fleeting life could be. But despite it all, he was so fucking proud of Brock – furious at his lack of self-preservation and determination to follow his instincts, but so damn proud. 

His phone pinged again, and a glance at the screen revealed a message from Eric this time, asking him where he was. A look at the clock showed that he was an hour early, but that was because he was swapping out with Clay who was planning on running some energy out of Cerberus before their handler was woken. 

Responding only with **_lift_** , Jason drained the rest of his coffee and waited impatiently for the doors to slide open – only to come face to face with Blackburn when they did. 

He could see Brock’s room from the lift, could see Clay and who appeared to be Wilson sitting either side of the bed, with Cerberus’ paws sticking up between them from where he was undoubtedly receiving a belly rub or two. He could see it, but apparently wasn’t going to be getting anywhere near it just yet. 

“Any particular reason you’re ambushing me here?” He asked his CO mildly, exiting the lift and trying his luck by heading for the room – but Eric’s palm against his chest put a stop to that pretty damn quickly. “C’mon Eric, Clay’s got less than an hour to exercise Cerb before they wake Brock.” 

Eric looked at him, unimpressed. “Doc’ll wait if he’s told too. Besides, Brock’s parents are on their way in but were held up by traffic, so nothing’ll happen till they’re here.” 

He bobbed his head at that, conceding his CO’s point. “‘Kay, so what’s with the ambush?” 

Eric waved him over to a corner nearby, and the trepidation on the man’s face immediately set him on edge. “I don’t know if the others have heard this yet, but I wanted you to hear it from me first.” The deep breath Blackburn took, followed by the uncomfortable look on his face made him unconsciously brace. Oh god. “There’s a rumour going around that based on his injuries, Brock should be medically discharged.” 

His blood went cold. 

Then it boiled. 

“There’s fucking _what_?!” He hissed furiously, fingers crinkling his coffee cup. Who the hell in their right mind thought they could get away with saying something like that?! “No. No way in hell am I letting someone make that decision for him. Better yet, tell me who the hell said that and I’ll tell them myself. The _fuck_ , Eric?!”

If it was Lindell who’d said it… 

“Jason. Jason! Calm down, alright?” Blackburn looked just as irritated, but he made a far better effort to conceal it. “Lindell is looking into it – he’s just as pissed as you are, believe me. In fact, he’s the one who heard it and brought it to my attention – but we’re handling it, okay? Lindell’s going to give Brock as much time as he needs to come back to Bravo, if that’s what his evals indicate will happen, so just chill out. Like I said, it’s a rumour – but this is why I wanted you to hear it from me first.” 

Jason thumped his fist against the wall, glared over Blackburn’s shoulder into the room where he could now see his brother; his face slack in sleep, eyes covered in bandages, earmuffs firmly in place and an oxygen mask over his mouth while the monitors and various cables tracked every one of his vitals. 

Brock wasn’t going anywhere. Jason wouldn’t let it, neither would Blackburn and - apparently – Lindell; an unexpected but welcome ally if he was going to do what he’d promised. 

Brock was Bravo’s, and Bravo protected their own. 

* * *

When Clay had come back from the bathroom, the sight of Kit Wilson parked beside Brock’s bed had been unexpected, and unwelcome. 

Ever since the man had been cleared to leave his bed; wheelchair only, neck brace mandatory and earmuffs in place for the first week to protect his eardrums as they healed, he’d spent his time in Brock’s room – only leaving to sleep, although half the time he nodded off in his chair until someone wheeled him back to his bed - or for his physio sessions. It wasn’t that Clay was suspicious of the man’s motives – Wilson had kept himself occupied whenever it had been his turn to watch over Bravo 5 – but the man was just... always there. 

Far be it from Clay to deny the man entry to Brock’s room; it was a free country and all that, but why did it have to be all the time? Brock had joined Wilson on Delta for one mission – a cluster fuck of a mission, but it had only been the one. So what? The man felt he owed him now, was that it? He’d seen the footage like the others, had seen how well the pair worked together, but that was unsurprising of Brock – you could put him with a kid on his first day in the Navy and it’d look like they’d trained together for years – and yeah, there was a bit of banter, more than he’d expected, but not a hell of a lot - and then Brock had saved Wilson’s life by grabbing him and pushing him towards the counter before they’d both been blown off their feet by the shockwave. 

So, Brock had saved Wilson’s life, and now the man was here. Every. Damn. Day. 

No one else on Bravo seemed to have an issue with the man’s presence, they’d slotted him into their poker matches without so much as blinking, which had only served to irritate Clay that little bit further. He was friendly, and polite, and clearly in pain – yet in Brock’s room he remained rather than in the comfort of his own bed. 

Didn’t the guy understand that Bravo just wanted to look after their brother? Without an audience? Wilson didn’t need to watch over Brock, he had five brothers more than capable of doing so already, plus their significant others and support team so it wasn’t like there was a shortage of people to call on. 

Maybe it was because he’d lost two of his own brothers, with the third permanently out of commission that brought him to the room? No, he didn’t feel like that was it, either. There was a sadness in his eyes, but it didn’t feel like that was the driving factor for him being there. 

Quite frankly, Kit Wilson was there – and Clay would much rather he not be. 

Alongside his general irritability with Delta 5’s presence, the thing that got to him the most was that Cerberus seemed to love Wilson. While friendly, the Malagator was unbelievably fussy when it came to who he’d relax with – only preferring the comfort of Bravo and their support team if he wanted someone to sit next to. 

But Cerberus was more than happy to sprawl at Wilson’s feet whenever he was there, and the man fussed over Cerberus as though he knew him as well as Bravo did, which was impossible – because no one could build that amount of trust with their Hair Missile in such a short amount of time. 

“I can smell your brain burning from here.” 

He looked at the SEAL, unimpressed. “What, you don’t like sitting in silence?” His retort, which was just this side of snapped seemed to amuse the man further, and that only irritated Clay more. 

“You had this whole Face of Doom thing going on,” Wilson replied, smirking slightly. “That, or it was a really intense thinking face.”

“What are you doing here?” He demanded, the question out before he could stop himself. He’d be mortified if he wasn’t so annoyed. Oh well, it was out there, so… in for a penny and all that. “I get Brock saved your life at Tenerife, and you’re grateful and all that, but you don’t need to be here every day, you know.” 

The look that Wilson gave him wasn’t offended, but considering. “You don’t know much about Brock’s time before Bravo, I’m guessing?” 

The question threw him slightly, and he automatically shook his head – which Wilson responded to with a nod – as much of one as he could get away with while injured but without wearing his neck brace, anyway. “Thought as much. Brock and I aren’t acquaintances like I’m guessing you believe – we joined the Navy together; he’s one of my best friend’s, as I’m one’a his.” 

That… was not what Clay had expected to hear – and he now felt like shit. No, he didn’t know much about Brock’s time pre-Bravo, and evidently that lack of knowledge had made him misjudge the situation. Still… “He’s never mentioned you,” he replied, trying not to sound as rude as he knew he had five seconds ago. For someone claiming to be one of Brock’s best friends, it was weird that Brock had never mentioned him to Clay before – at work or… any other time, quite frankly. 

“You talk about every one of your friends to your team?” 

No, he didn’t. Even though he didn’t have many friends prior to the team – the ones he had had, like Brian, hadn’t really come up in conversation before. He loved his brothers, but he loved having bits of his life to himself, just like Brock apparently did. 

Wilson was still smiling slightly, apparently taking pity on him. “It’s all good, Spenser,” the man said, and Clay felt his hackles lower a little. Even when he was outright rude, Wilson had been easy going – he could see why he and Brock got on so well if that was his permanent demeanour. “It’s good to see Broccoli’s got someone who’s as protective of him as I am on the team. The shit he can get up too when unsupervised… oi.”

He snorted, smiling fondly at the unconscious man in the bed. “Yeah, we’ve had some good laughs together, that’s for sure.” 

“I don’t doubt it.” Wilson winced as he stretched in his seat, and Clay felt for him. Broken ribs and fractured vertebrae were something he’d yet to suffer, but he knew they were an utter bitch to have. To have both at the same time… blergh. No thanks. “My dearest Floret has regaled me with a story or two – let me just say I’m glad there was someone with him when he was pulling stunts like those – I honestly dread him being out in the big wide world by himself sometimes.” 

“It sounds like you’ve got a fair bit of experience putting up with his antics.” 

“Kid… the shit he and I used to get up to… our CO dreaded seeing us in the same room together; fully panicked when he did.” 

The amused way Wilson said it, the smile playing on his lips made Clay curious – made him want to know more. “Can you tell me about it? About Brock’s days before Bravo?” It sounded like Delta 5 had some interesting stories, and he wanted to know if Brock’s knack for finding trouble, and unbelievable luck for walking away from every injury he sustained had been a consequence of joining Bravo, or if he’d brought it with him. “It’s only 0700, and Doc isn’t scheduled to be here for another few hours.” 

Wilson lit up at the request, and Clay had to bite his lip from grinning widely. This was going to be good. 

“Settle in kid, because holy shit do I have some stories for you.” 

Three hours later, Clay’s face was aching from laughing so much. 

Despite his initial wariness of the SEAL opposite him, the man’s humour and ability to weave stories had broken down that barrier, and he was now grateful for the man’s presence in not only the room, but Brock’s life in general. Kit knew how to tell stories, knew how to drag you along for a ride after grabbing you hook, line and sinker. 

The things Clay had gotten up to with the canine handler were tame in comparison to the adventures Brock and Wilson had had together – and Clay knew Jason would be mortified if he found out about any of them. That, and he now had a whole new arsenal of nicknames for his friend to use, which he’d be taking great delight in implementing once it was possible to do so. 

“How the hell are you both still in one piece?” he chortled, taking a mouthful of water from his bottle. All this laughter had left him feeling dehydrated, and the last thing he wanted was to bring Trent’s wrath down on him when the medic found out he hadn’t had enough water. “Not to mention alive.” 

“Dude, there’s been many a night that I’ve wondered the same thing,” Kit replied, hand absentmindedly massaging his ribs. “I’ve come to the conclusion that if I’m to die, then there better be a damn good story to go with it. To hell with leading a boring life.” 

Clay leaned over the bed, bottle extended and Kit tapped it with his own. “Amen to that.” 

Wilson went to take his own sip, but his eyes were focused outside the window. The reason for it became clear a second later, when there was a roar that sounded unmistakably like Jason. Cerberus, who’d been sleeping between Brock’s legs the whole time with his paws stuck up in the air startled awake, grunting slightly as he rolled onto his stomach before settling again. 

“Ru-oh, someone’s upset Bravo 1,” Kit sang, confirming for Clay that it was indeed his boss bellowing like a bull. “Wonder if its cause the Season’s put their request in.” 

“The Seasons?” he repeated, setting his now empty bottle on the floor. “Who? What request?” 

Kit flapped the hand not currently pouring water into his mouth. “Dude,” he gasped once he’d swallowed. “Dude – can’t believe I haven’t told you. The Season’s want Brock to join them permanently!” 

Brock wasn’t going anywhere. “Who the hell are the Seasons?” he asked again. “They can’t have him, by the way.” 

Kit rolled his eyes. “Summer, Autumn, Winters and Springfield. Duh. And don’t worry, Brock told them he wasn’t allowed to go anywhere – but I don’t think that’s deterred them, if I’m honest.” 

“Summer?” he repeated, frowning as he thought. “As in Kairos?” he thought about it, then his eyes widened. “You mean the EODs? Wait, they’re all named after a _season_?! Oh god, tell me Sonny doesn’t know this _please_!” He could just picture his brother’s face – could picture the horror when he learned that the hippie EOD he didn’t like had three others with a related name.

Oh, but he wouldn’t like that _at all._

“Nope, he doesn’t know as far as I’m aware,” Kit cackled. “Brock said Quinn punched him right before he was spun up and he wants payback – and luckily for my dearest vegetable, we’ve already got a plan in place.” 

By god, he couldn’t wait. “You’re gunna record it, yeah?” 

“Damn straight.” 

“Excellent.” 

The door swung open, and Clay turned to greet Jason, only to frown at the thundercloud that had taken over his boss’ face. He considered if it was a Doom Face – decided it wasn’t quite there and as he hadn’t caused it, probably couldn’t claim it on his card anyway. “See, I wanna ask, but…” 

“Someone on the base wants Brock medically discharged,” Jason snarled, and just like that the light atmosphere that he and Kit had built in the room over the past few hours vanished like smoke. 

“What?” he demanded, panic and fury raring their heads. They couldn’t lose Brock from their team, they _wouldn’t_ – and especially not to someone who had no idea what they were talking about. “ _Who?!_ ” He glanced at Kit, saw the man looked as livid as he felt. 

“Christ, Hayes.” Clay leaned sideways to see past Jason and found a distinctly grumpy looking Blackburn as the man pushed Bravo 1 further into the room. “I said it was a _rumour_. I also said that it was being handled.” 

“Spense deserves to know,” Jason retorted, folding his arms over his chest and glowering at his CO. “They all do.” 

Blackburn rolled his eyes, and Clay could just hear the ‘ _murder isn’t allowed’_ mantra he was repeating in his head. “Fine. When everyone is here, I’ll tell them there is a _rumour_ , and that it’s being _handled_ by Lindell and myself. Happy?” 

Jason grunted, but didn’t reply, and Blackburn rolled his eyes again. “Clay, Hayes mentioned you wanted to take Cerb to the park?” 

He stood and nodded, swallowing his anger and waking Cerberus with a scratch behind his ears. “C’mon bud,” he said, relieved his voice was even, rather than trembling with fury like he’d expected. “Time to go for a run.” 

“You mind if I come with?” Kit asked. He saw the hardness in the man’s eyes, knew that he needed to get away so he could vent just as much as Clay was planning on doing – and, quite frankly, the more the bloody merrier. “I know I’m wheelchair bound, but I wouldn’t mind some fresh air.” 

“Least I can do,” he replied. He grabbed Cerb’s lead and clipped it onto the Malagator’s collar before passing the handle over. “You want me to get your neck brace?” 

“Nah,” Kit replied. “I’ll just make sure I don’t move my head too much – wouldn’t want to bring Doc’s wrath down on me, but it fucking itches today.” 

That worked for him, although he made a note to keep in the man’s eyeline when they talked so he didn’t hurt himself further. “You hold, I’ll push.” 

“Deal.” 

Jason and Blackburn moved out of the way as he maneuvered the wheelchair out of the room, and together the two SEALs plus their canine companion made their way down the corridor to the lifts. The moment they were inside and the doors slid shut, he burst. “The fuck do they think they’re saying, ‘medical retirement’?!” He seethed. “Brock’s healing well, and they think – ‘na, bit banged up; he’s of no use to us anymore’. Fucking _assholes_. I’ll fucking show them a medical retirement, the pricks.” 

“Agreed,” Kit grumbled, his lips pursed in irritation. “Evidently the people saying it have never met him. If they had, they’d know about his nine lives that seem to replenish themselves whenever he’s in a hospital.” 

“He’s got one of the hardest jobs in the military, and yet they’re so quick to write him off.” The leather of the handles creaked under his hands, with how hard he was gripping them. “It’s fucking ridiculous.”

Kit looked at him, as much as he was able, his brow creased in confusion. “What makes you say he’s got one of the hardest jobs?” The question wasn’t skeptical, just curious, and Clay knew why. Not everyone would see being a handler as a difficult job, and that had always rankled him. “You’re a sniper, wouldn’t that be one of the hardest?” 

From what he knew of Wilson, the man was an excellent sniper himself – so it was easy to see where the man was coming from with his question, but at the end of the day being a sniper was little more than calculation and nerve. If the wind was blowing a certain amount of knots, it’d affect the trajectory of the bullet. Humidity would affect the air, and so forth. It was math - and the ability to calculate it quickly to ensure a successful result. A plus B equals C. 

“What do you think is harder?” he asked. “Being able to count quickly, or training another living being that doesn’t speak your language? As a fellow sniper, you and I know that our jobs are all about the math. The moment we arrive on site we’re assessing conditions, wind speed, temperature – you name it. We’re running through our checklist so that when the heat’s on, each of our shots stack up, find their mark. You miscalculate, you adjust it in a split second and go again and yeah, sometimes the variables are too much that you fuck it up, but it’s rare.” The doors to the lift slid open, and they exited the cab to the ground floor. 

“K-9 handlers, on the other hand, have to not only train a dog to respond to commands, but know how to read them so that they can understand what they’re trying to communicate. And when you have an animal with a mind of its own? You have to know how to control it so it doesn’t get you, or anyone else killed.” The entrance doors slid open, and Clay knew it wasn’t just his eyes that were on Cerberus who was trotting happily beside them. “I’d take being a sniper over a handler any day – because the only one responsible for the outcome is myself. A handler who loses his edge, or his ability to understand his dog is responsible for a hell of a lot more.” 

“Well shit,” Kit said, and he genuinely sounded surprised. “In all my years of knowing Broccoli, I never thought of it like that before.” 

“I hadn’t either, until I started training with him,” he admitted as they crossed the road. Cerberus started whining excitedly when he realised where they were going, but he didn’t pull at his lead like most dogs would’ve. A testament to his training, and his trainer. “There’s a reason why he’s considered the best handler the Navy has. Not that he believes that. Or knows that, come to think of it,” he added. If there was one thing about Brock he’d always admired, it was that there wasn’t an egotistical or arrogant bone in his body. The man was humble through and through, the love for what he did the driving factor, rather than the need to prove himself. It was an attitude Clay was trying hard to emulate, and while he knew he still had a way to go he honestly believed his friend had helped shape him into a better man. 

Having someone believe in him, encourage him in all aspects of his life without judgement had been something he’d sorely lacked growing up, so he wasn’t about to let it go without a damn good fight. 

“For someone who’s as much of a shit-stirrer as you and I, the fact he’s still so self-conscious about his abilities blows my mind,” Kit said, shaking his head in disbelief. “He’s so bloody humble it does my head in.”

“It’s part of what makes him who he is, though.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

They’d arrived at the park, and Cerberus was nearly vibrating in excitement. There was a large field, and a big playground too – both were relatively busy, but Clay knew he could work the Malagator with less. 

“Sitz,” Kit instructed. Once Cerberus had sat he unclipped the harness and looked at Clay with a sly grin. “Alright goldilocks, you said you know how to work the Hair Missile, so let’s see what you can do.” 

The nickname should’ve annoyed him, but he was used to it. That, and he suspected trying to put a stop to it would only make it worse. “Okay, what should we do first?” 

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, there was a crowd of wide-eyed kids and adults gathered around the playground, watching as Cerberus navigated some of the course. 

After sending the Hair Missile on a few laps of the field, running between him and Kit and doing some simple command training, Clay had noticed that the kids that had previously run rampant on the playground had all stopped to watch. After a brief internal debate, he’d decided to take the Malagator over; he and Brock had done some work on obstacles with Cerberus, and while he wasn’t confident enough to have the dog do some of the harder tricks – the dog loved him, sure, but didn’t quite trust him with that – things like the seesaw, small ladder and hurdles were all things they could do. 

So, he’d wheeled Kit over to the playground, and with the injured SEAL’s help they explained who Cerberus was, what he did – in as much of a child friendly explanation as possible – and why they were there. With Kit running commentary, Clay had Cerberus climb the ladder, run across the bridge, go down the slide – run the balance bar, jump the hurdles, crawl the crawl net, back up the ladder, over the stepping bars and down the other side. 

He’d feel bad about doing this with Cerb, except Brock always took great delight in entertaining children on the rare occasion he got the Hair Missile to a park. As it turned out, the kids belonged to the nearby school, and he’d already gotten the name for Brock because he’d undoubtedly want to visit and show them more of what Cerberus could do once he had recovered. 

Kit was fielding questions from kids and teachers alike, and had been firm when pointing out that Cerberus trained to do this stuff every day – and while it looked cool, they shouldn’t expect nor force their own dogs to do it; that if they wanted to learn how to train a dog, they should see the local dog training school that this dog’s handler had helped set up. 

That casual comment had taken Clay completely by surprise, and he wasn’t going to let it slide. When his alarm beeped to signal the end of their session, he apologised profusely to the kids who were all now patting a panting Cerberus and told them they had to get back. 

There were disappointed groans, but the kids drew away without needing to be told a second time. “Cerb, hacke,” he said, and the Malagator rolled up off the ground and trotted up to him. “Say goodbye.” 

Cerberus yapped twice, setting the kids off giggling as they waved. One of the teachers came up and shook both their hands, and Cerberus’ paw when he lifted it. 

“Thank you for your service,” the man laughed as he released the paw, and gave Cerberus a scratch behind the ears. “And thank you for today, they’ve absolutely loved it, and I now know what the next term’s module will be; a focus on the active service and veterans, and the K-9 unit as well. Tell your buddy we’re all thinking of him, and would love for him to visit when he’s better.” 

“Brock’ll be there with bells on,” Kit laughed. “He’ll be disappointed he missed out on this.” 

“Well we’d love to see you guys again,” the teacher replied. “Don’t be a stranger.” 

They both nodded, and with a visibly tired Cerberus clipped to his leash Clay pushed Kit back towards the hospital. 

“That was good,” Kit mused. “I can see why Floret gets so much enjoyment outta it.” 

“Heart of gold, remember.” Speaking of… “What did you mean, Brock set up the dog training school here?” 

Kit shrugged, fiddling with the lead’s handle. “When Brock first started with the K-9’s, his trainers had both been injured in combat, and were lined up for a medical retirement. His application was what put Ryan’s discharge on hold, as he had a dog that could still be used to help teach. Same with Bobby and Peak, after Sila was also retired. Medical retirement is something that doesn’t sit well with Brock; the men train for years, more-so than the rest of us, and are simply discarded when they can’t serve overseas anymore. He could see how much staying on to train someone meant to Ryan and Bobby, and he wanted to do something to help – give them purpose again. Around the time he changed handlers he came across an old warehouse that was scheduled for demolition. The land hadn’t yet been repurposed when he spoke with the owners, and so he brought it, then with Ryan and Bobby’s help turned it into a dog training facility. Once it was built, he handed it to them to manage and run – anyone from school kids to grandparents go there now, and its run entirely by ex-handlers.” 

“But…” he was completely lost. Brock had done all that? And hadn’t told him? Hadn’t told any of them? “Do the others know? He’s never spoken about it, never even gone there when he and I have trained Cerb. Did something happen that stopped him from going?”

Kit shrugged. “Don’t think so? I asked him a few months back what was happening with it, and I swear I couldn’t get him to shut up for two hours. I think he’s content to be a silent partner, and steer wounded or retiring handlers their way. I know Ryan and Bobby have been looking at expanding; opening a couple more up around the country to help more vets and the community, and Brock’s been helping them look at facilities. Plus, they’re looking at purchasing the land next door to the current place and creating a course more on par with what the base has, but better. The building isn’t designed for training working dogs, but I know they want to get handlers familiar with it so that if they want to work or volunteer when they retire, they’re already comfortable with the environment.”

He thought he knew Brock. He knew he was quiet, and dependable, and could get into the craziest of situations. He knew he cared deeply, and would always back what he thought was right – but this was a whole new side of him that he hadn’t expected.

Brock Reynolds was truly a golden hearted mystery.

“Don’t take it to heart, kid,” Kit said, as though he were reading his silence as a bad thing. “Brock only goes there when Ryan or Bobby asks him to come in and give some pointers to their trainees, or if he wants to see how they’re doing. He doesn’t take Cerberus there, that’s just a choice he’s made, and to be honest it’s probably never even crossed his mind to talk about it to anyone. It’s…”

“Just Brock’s way,” he finished for the man, huffing a laugh. “You think you have him figured out, and then he just does something else to surprise you.”

Kit snorted. “Yeah, he’s good like that.”

* * *

Pain was a funny thing.

It was the body’s way of telling you that something was wrong, but the problem was being dealt with. It was the body’s way of making sure you didn’t aggravate the issue, so that it could do the job it was meant to and repair the damage.

Pain was a funny thing, and something Brock was used to.

He felt sluggish, and like he weighed a tonne or two, but the moment the first dregs of coherence started to stick around… oh yeah. He hurt.

He hurt _bad_.

Something had gone wrong, he knew that much. He couldn’t quite remember what it was, but figured he’d find out soon enough. He remembered that the last time he’d been conscious the pain had been excruciating; overwhelming all of his other senses and snuffing everything out. He’d half expected the pain to still be consuming – had half expected not to wake up at all.

The fact he was still alive, and somewhat numb to the pain were both very good things, because that meant that he was obviously somewhere that gave him very good drugs, and he’d happily have some more if he was allowed and… and… and apparently he may have a concussion, because he had no idea where he was going with that train of thought.

There was a low buzzing in his ears, which was rather irritating, but the closer he came to the surface of consciousness, the quieter it became. It didn’t go away completely, but enough that he suddenly realised he wasn’t alone.

“His face keeps twitchin’ – gotta mean he’s comin’ around, yeah?”

“You said that ten minutes ago, Sonny. Didn’t mean he was conscious then, certainly doesn’t mean he’s conscious now.”

Ha. Trent sounded so grumpy when he was grumpy, did he know how grumpy he sounded? And – wait. Sonny was there, and Trent was there, and even though his eyes apparently refused to open to show him their there-ness, there was this… heaviness in the air – was that even a thing? It probably was a thing - that told him they weren’t the only two present. 

Which meant that Bravo was there. And if Bravo was there… 

“D’nt… w’nna be… groun’d.” That was clear, right? Semi-understandable? Semi-slurred? Eh. He did quite well, in his opinion. Whatever – as long as he wasn’t grounded, everything would hopefully be okay. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t want to be grounded, but apparently his poor, bruised brain thought it was important to say, so say it he had. 

“You are absolutely grounded,” Jason replied from somewhere to his left. Bugger. Never mind then. Although Jason sounded relived, rather than peeved, so that was a bonus. He turned his head towards his boss’s voice, frowned when everything remained black so he lifted his arm to try and work out just what the hell was going on. Either someone had left the lights off in a very dark room, or something was very wrong with his eyes. 

“Nuh uh, not a good idea.” That was Trent this time, and a hand carefully clasped his wrist and held it against the bed. Apparently he hadn’t gotten it very far beyond some weird flopping movement, despite his best efforts. The fingers around his wrist remained, comforting in their pressure.

Naw. That was nice of Trent.

“You’ve got a bandage around your eyes, so you won’t be able to see anything for a while.” 

“Wha…” 

“Bit of swelling is causing temporary blindness.” That was Doc’s chipper voice and Jesus, just where the hell was he that _Doc_ had come to see him. “Nothing to worry about, everything’s healing well.” 

“So much for breaking it to him slowly.” 

“Anyone else, Sawyer – sure. But he’s Brock – if we don’t tell him outright then he’s going to do something stupid to work out what’s wrong, and I won’t let him undo all this hard work.” 

“Brock, sweetheart; how are you feeling?” 

He startled. The fuck?! What was his _mother_ doing here? Memories flit past his currently unseeing eyes, sluggish thoughts stringing together enough information to tell him that he’d been overseas, and there’d been a big explosion of some sort – and even as drugged to the gills as he knew he was, he knew full well his parent’s weren’t up for travelling long distances, so… “Wh… where am… I?” He asked, pleased when his slow attempt at speaking got the words out far more clearly than before. He’d do a happy dance, if he didn’t feel like he was being sat on by a baby elephant. 

What a rude elephant. 

“You’re back home, son.” Oh look. His dad was here too. Hi dad. Man his head hurt… “At the Naval hospital. Again.” 

The way he said that… Brock could tell his old man was exasperated, rather than worried. Evidently his father had gotten used to his tendency to get hurt on a mission. Not that he intended to get hurt on missions, it just kinda happened. He really shouldn’t be blamed for that. “Errr…oops?” There were several snorts of laughter at that, and he winced, the sudden noise far too loud. “Ow.” 

“Sorry,” Clay replied. “Whisper-snorting is a lot harder than whisper-talking. Whispering. Whatever.” 

He went to wave Clay off, found the hand that wasn’t still being gently pressed against the bed felt as heavy as the rest of him. “Wh…what happened.” 

“Okay,” that was Doc again, and the pain he was feeling in his head must’ve been evident because there was a sudden warmth that filled his veins, and he felt all… floaty… “Let’s wait for a while before discussing that, yeah? You need more pain meds, and more rest.” 

No. Wait. A memory bloomed in his mind; looking at his brothers, who weren’t his _brother_ brothers – but very close. He’d been with them, and then he wasn’t because suddenly everything had been filled with pain and fire and screaming – 

Brock was out cold again before he could finish the thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know much about concussions, having never suffered one myself (thankfully!) however I do know people who’ve had them, and combined with the research (very brief) I’ve done, if anyone was confused about Brock’s ‘train of thought’ it was a combination of confusion, minor amnesia and of course – drugs. Lots and lots of pain medication is definitely making him feel all floaty! The really good pain medication is something I’ve never been on before, but I’ve heard about people’s experiences and holy shit they’re some wild rides! So a doped up Brock is a rather happy, rambley Brock :P
> 
> But hey – he’s awake!


	14. The Light That Breaks The Darkness

**A/N: Hello all! Thank you for all your lovely comments on the last chapter, the loss of my friend has definitely hit hard and I'm not ready for the funeral tomorrow, but it's definitely closure I need. As mentioned last week, the emotions of losing said friend heavily inspired the start of this chapter, so I do apologise for going heavy on the emotion right at the start, but I think it kinda touches on the five stages of grief that people go through when something big happens in their lives.**

**For me personally, on top of everything else I'm finally unemployed, so the emotional and mental rollercoaster I've been on the last ten weeks has finally come to an end, it just had a shitty finish when it did. But I've got that relief and closure on several fronts now, which I'm grateful for.**

**BUT! The second part of the chapter... oh I can't wait for you all to read it. I had a great time writing it, and it was originally going to be the start of this chapter before I got around to putting my editors hat on, but I hope you all get as much enjoyment out of it as I and several fictional characters do!**

**Basically, sorry for the emotional whiplash this chapter...**

**Also, as you may have noticed - we're one chapter away from the end. Woohoo! I'll be turning these stories into a series - which to be fair, they kinda already are - and will soon be able to get started on my next one which I've been eagerly hanging out to write for you lovely people. SOOOOO CLOOOOOSE!**

**Special shout out to[Hockey_92](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hockey_92), [marinka1836](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marinka1836), [Countrygirl83](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Countrygirl83), [LifeofLaura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeofLaura), [meikej1989](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meikej1989), [Moanin_0h](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moanin_0h), [boo_1997](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boo_1997), [turnitup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnitup), [Muggleborn12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muggleborn12), [SlickesGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlickesGirl), [bluedragonmaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedragonmaid), [Rantsandobliviousness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rantsandobliviousness), [Norwegian_Youth_SOF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Norwegian_Youth_SOF), [Morgan_Jean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgan_Jean), [Owebee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owebee), [DonnaJ66](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DonnaJ66), [illyria13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyria13), [FlutieCutie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlutieCutie), [TinyNinjaWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyNinjaWolf), [Samsam572](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samsam572), [FancyHippopotamoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyHippopotamoose), [Quetzalcoatl_hime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quetzalcoatl_hime), [burn_me_down](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burn_me_down), [KazooKaren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren), [nhardoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhardoy), [ghostwriter_44](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwriter_44), [Raeschiev9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raeschiev9), [ShellyFanFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic), [Hayzkid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hayzkid), [Irish1969](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish1969), [Laura42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura42), [Floopdeedoopdee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floopdeedoopdee), [Eggerthella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggerthella), [purplerain88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplerain88), [blabliblablu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blabliblablu), [TheLaurinchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLaurinchen), [MiaMalfoy716](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaMalfoy716), [CamilleMadeAnAccount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount), [Jemmacatt14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemmacatt14), [Wurdsmadder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wurdsmadder), [NobodyKnowsWhoIAM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobodyKnowsWhoIAM), and [Bastet5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastet5) as well as the 111 guests who've kudosed, you guys are awesome!**

* * *

It was two days after Brock woke for the first time that the brunet was lucid enough to ask what had happened. 

While everyone expected to be asked at some point, the question had come completely out of the blue – simply because he’d been convinced that Brock was asleep. One minute Trent was sitting there, reading through the latest reports on everyone’s recoveries while Kit sat opposite him on his phone – understandable considering how close the pair were – and the next he was flinching violently in his seat when Brock suddenly asked, “What happened?” 

The question was clear, and coherent - and completely unexpected for someone who was supposedly unconscious two seconds earlier. Of course, as Brock was covered in more bandages than not, and doped to the gills he probably wasn’t feeling up to moving all that much. Coupled with the bandages covering his eyes, there was no way to tell when he was awake. Cerberus would know, so attuned to his handler as he was, but he was at the vet with Clay getting his final shot after his wounds had fully healed. 

So, he’d had no warning, which is why he left the clipboard where it fell on the bed and leaned forward. “Hey bud, how’re you feeling?” 

Brock groaned lowly. “Like I got hit by a bus.” 

“By a bus, or by Bus?” Kit asked, grinning when Brock groaned again. Evidently it was an inside joke, with the pursed lips Brock gave, and the wider Kit’s grin grew. 

“Shuddup Kit.” 

“C’mooooon,” Wilson wheedled. “Say Cerberus’ name, I dare you.” 

“I can say my dog’s name just fine, you dick,” Brock grumbled. “Unlike you, I’m not a lightweight when it comes to medication.” 

Ah. So they were referring to the Hair Missile. He still didn’t quite get what they were going on about, but it was good to see his brother was coherent and talking clearly. Considering all the worst-case scenarios his mind had come up with over the past few weeks, he was mightily impressed by how well he seemed to be doing. 

“Still haven’t heard you say it.” 

“I will sic Cerberus on your ass when you least expect it, Kitster – don’t think I won’t.” 

“Bugger,” Kit replied, but he didn’t look the least bit disappointed. “Next time.” 

“Whatever.” Considering the pale blankness of unconsciousness he’d become accustomed to in the past few weeks, seeing Brock’s smile was a welcome sight indeed. “I’m guessing I’ve been out for a little while, so… what happened?” 

Sharing a look with the man opposite him, Kit – who suddenly looked solemn, nodded him in invitation. Steeling himself with a deep breath, he started with a question of his own. “What do you remember?” 

“Fire,” Brock said automatically, his voice quiet as he thought. “Pain. There was an explosion, and I couldn’t move. I… don’t really remember what caused it though.” 

There was a minor jump in the handler’s heart rate monitor, so he was quick to lean forward and squeeze Brock’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s alright,” he soothed. “You’ve got a concussion, so amnesia isn’t unusual – the memories will probably come back with time, so don’t worry too much, yeah?” 

“Your head’s like a battering ram, Broccoli,” Kit added, forcing as much cheer into his voice as he could. “A concussion is nothing.” 

“What happened?” Brock asked again, and the way his readings settled told Trent that the brunet was heeding their words. “I didn’t trip on Wilson’s big feet, did I?” 

“Excuse me?!” Kit spluttered, sounding as miffed as he looked. “I do not have big feet.” 

“Bunk beds, ladder,” the brunet replied, deadpan. “Trent, seriously.” 

So, he broke it down for his brother. He explained how Brock got spun up with Delta – without Jason’s knowledge, he made sure to point out – and they were sent to stop a terrorist attempt on Tenerife airport. He explained how Bravo and Alpha were spun up to assist when the SAS were re-diverted to another threat at Heathrow. 

He explained how despite the original six-hour time gap between their spin-up’s, it was reduced to a matter of minutes thanks to some poor luck on Delta’s side, and good luck on Bravo’s. 

With just enough detail, he explained Delta’s infil on the airport, which quickly turned to a gunfight when the terrorists open fired, and the subsequent aftermath. How Sam had been shot and evac’d with Tim’s help, how the intel they’d received seemed to be off and Cerberus’ behaviour further confirmed that something wasn’t right.

He explained how Brock had pieced together what had happened – how he hadn’t gone to safety like he should have, instead followed his instincts so that the terrorists motives were revealed in full, and helped stop an identical, bigger disaster at Heathrow. 

Throughout his explanation, Brock lay their quietly, and if it wasn’t for the occasional rise in his heart monitor Trent would’ve believed that the brunet had fallen asleep again. 

When he finished, silence fell. Both he and Kit were looking at Brock, waiting for a response.

“Who?” he asked eventually; voice hoarse, face turned towards the ceiling, not towards either of his friends.

Trent couldn’t answer. Technically he could, but he didn’t want to. He knew the news would tear at his friend something fierce – wanted to delay the response as long as he could… 

But he knew Brock wouldn’t let him. And he was right. 

“ _Who,_ Trent?”

“Stone and Ramirez,” he replied quietly. “Banks is facing medical retirement.” 

Brock mouthed a silent curse, his lips and jaw trembling. “I’d like some time alone, please.”

“Brock,” Kit said, his voice unbelievably gentle. “This isn’t on you. _No one_ blames you for this.”

“I want to be alone,” Brock repeated, his voice breaking even as he tried to hold it together. “ _Please._ ” 

His friend shifted when his heart rate monitor beeped worriedly at the sudden increase, and groaned lowly when something flared in protest. “Brock,” Trent tried, his heart aching at the pain his brother was in – both physical and emotional. “Brock you need painkillers, and to relax. C’mon brother -”

“I said I want to be left alone!” Brock snapped, the anger so uncharacteristic for the brunet that it took him by surprise. He didn’t take it to heart though, knew that his best friend was overwhelmed on several fronts which was why he was lashing out. “Just leave. _Please.”_

He nodded at Kit, deftly ignored the pain in the man’s eyes. Grabbing the morphine button, he slid it into the hand that was in a cast. “Alright, Brock. Alright. Use this if you need it – you don’t need to torture yourself with pain because you think you should, okay? Like Kit said, this isn’t your fault.” 

Brock didn’t reply, but he didn’t drop the button either. Taking it as a minor victory, he met Kit at the end of the bed and took control of his wheelchair, rolling him out of the room and to the chairs directly opposite.

Brock was in pain, and he was grieving – and he wasn’t going anywhere.

* * *

The door swung shut, and Brock clapped his working hand over his mouth, stifling his sobs.

Fuck. _Fuck._

He could feel the bandages around his eyes grow wet, could feel the warmth of his tears be absorbed by the fabric – or for the lucky few, slip underneath to slide down his cheeks.

Fuck. He’d _failed_. 

He knew there was logic to Trent’s words, knew that he shouldn’t be holding himself responsible if none of the others did, but shit. Someone had to hold him to account and if they wouldn’t do it, then he would. It was as simple as that. 

Because at the end of the day, it had been his job to find the bombs – he hadn’t. 

It had been his job to cover Tim so he could get Sam to help quickly – he hadn’t. 

It had been his job to help the EODs disarm the bombs – he hadn’t. 

And because he’d failed, hundreds of people were killed, two of his team had died, and the others were all injured – some of them irreparably. 

People had counted on him, and he’d let them down. 

He didn’t remember everything that had happened, due to his apparent amnesia, but he remembered more now than when he’d woken – and what he could remember? Well, that knowledge placed the blame pretty damn heavily on his shoulders. 

Cerberus had been acting weird in the airport. He _knew_ something was odd, knew he should’ve looked closer – but he’d been distracted by everything else going on. And that was _not_ the SEAL way. They were trained to look for the smaller details, look for what wasn’t immediately obvious – draw lines between clues to build the bigger picture. 

What kind of operator did that make him that he’d repeatedly missed those signs? 

The sound of the door handle turning drew him from his self-recrimination, and fury exploded white hot. “Fuck’s sake, Trent. I said I want to be alone!” 

“Well hello to you too.” 

He froze, brows furrowing. That… was not who he was expecting, and it took a second to place the voice. “Troy?”

“Hey kid.” There was the soft click of electrics, and the sound of tires rolling across the floor – the door snicking shut as the man rolled his way over to his bed. “You look like crap.” 

He scoffed softly, the sound wet. “Wouldn’t know. Everyone’s said it though, so must be some truth in it.” 

“Your sight’ll come back, Brock,” Troy replied, and his wrist was squeezed comfortingly. “Sawyer said they’re playing it safe.” 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, steering the conversation away from his blindness. Everyone had reassured him his eyes would be fine, but it had been weeks since the explosion. Way he figured it, if he was going to be fine, the bandage would be off already. 

He wasn’t stupid. 

There was a soft huff before the hand left his wrist. The crackle of fabric told him the man had leaned back in his chair. “Physio appointment. I have to come in every day for treatment, thought I’d swing by to see you – Kit mentioned you were awake. Sorry I wasn’t here the other day.” 

What Brock didn’t know was that Kit had frantically waved him over the moment Troy had left the lift. His brother didn’t even have to say anything – the look on his and Sawyer’s faces was enough for him to know what had happened, and the relief he’d felt at finally getting to see and talk to the last member of his team evolved into a steely determination to put a stop to the emotional train wreck he suspected was occurring. 

And yeah, he’d been right when he saw the state of Bravo 5 through the window. 

Brock flopped his good hand, waving off the apology. “S’not like I woulda known who was here. Goddamn Queen could’ve been here and I wouldn’t have known.” 

Besides, if anyone should be apologising, it was him. This man had lost so much because of him; his brothers, his career – all because Brock had been too slow. “Troy -” 

“Nuh-uh,” Troy interrupted, squeezing his wrist again. “Don’t even think about it Brock – this isn’t on you. _No one blames you_ , you hear me? You didn’t set the bombs, and you certainly didn’t activate them. You -” 

“Didn’t find them in time.” 

“Enough,” he ordered sternly, not releasing the gentle hold he had on the man’s wrist. “You’re the reason I still have brothers, and my life. What happened to Stone could’ve happened to anyone, on any mission. It was shit luck, Brock; crappy, awful shitty luck. And Ramirez…” he swallowed harshly, the kick to the gut losing him had been as strong as when he’d first been told. His little brother had been right there beside him, he’d had his wrist in his _hand_ – much like he now had Brock’s – and it hadn’t been enough. “There was nothing that could’ve been done for him. The shrapnel ripped through him – but again, that could’ve happened on any mission to any one of us.” 

Brock shook his head. “I should’ve -” 

“You should’ve what?” he countered immediately. “Ignored the intel? Known what the terrorists were planning when no one else did? That’s not how this works, you know that. We operate with what we have, plan and execute accordingly. If you hadn’t ignored my orders, our ops teams would have never known what happened – worse, they wouldn’t have been able to stop the attempt on Heathrow. Yes, people died – but you saved hundreds of lives, Brock. You have no idea how many families are indebted to you because you refused to walk away.” 

If he could have, he would’ve boosted himself onto the bed so he could rest their foreheads together; given comfort to his brother as he did all the others. But barely functioning arms meant there’d be a lot of flailing and a fair bit of pain trying to do so on both their parts, so the only comfort he could offer was squeezing the wrist beneath his fingertips. “You chose to make the ultimate sacrifice so that everyone that could do so, could go home.”

He held on tight, acted as the anchor in the fierce storm as Reynolds slowly fell to pieces. 

Trent looked up when the door opened, his worry and stress leaving him so drained that he couldn’t drag himself from his chair when Troy wheeled out of the room. 

He didn’t know how long Delta 1 had been in there, but it had felt like forever, and every second that passed made him even more concerned for his friend. He’d looked, once, and had looked away almost as quickly. The grief on his best friend’s face, even from this distance, was like a stab to the gut because there was nothing he could do. 

Kit sat up straighter in his chair when Troy joined them, and he could feel the other man’s worry, see it from the way he fidgeted impatiently. 

“The kid needs time,” Troy said without preamble, voice low. “Like the rest of us, he’s carrying a lot of guilt – but unlike the rest of us he hasn’t had the time, nor the chance for closure. Brock blames himself for the bombs not being found faster -”

“Goddamn martyr,” Kit muttered, and Trent gave the man’s shoulder a squeeze in consolation when he heard the emotion in it. “Places the weight of the world on his shoulders every time.” 

“He’s got a good heart, a good soul,” he added. “It’s what makes him who he is.” 

Troy nodded. “Like I said, he blames himself and thinks he should’ve done more. I’ve told him – _stressed_ , really - that he’s not to blame, but it’ll take time before he believes that. He’s asleep for now; I convinced him to take some pain meds as it was obvious he was hurting, and they knocked him out pretty quick. I’d suggest that we get the therapist to see him tomorrow – the sooner he talks to someone, the sooner he can start to recover.” 

Trent nodded. He’d already decided to sort the counselor – would make sure one was there ready and waiting for Brock the moment he was ready to talk. “We’ll get him through this,” he told the pair. “No matter what it takes, he’ll get through this.” 

* * *

**_Virginal Beach Naval Hospital – four weeks post-Tenerife_ **

Sonny wandered down the hall, coffee in hand and guilt firmly in place. 

It had been just over a week since Brock was allowed to wake, and while he’d been there for his brother, he. Well. He hadn’t really been, either. 

Every time he looked at Brock, saw the bruises and casts and bandages… the guilt for his part in his brother’s injuries reared its ugly head and sat like lead in his gut. So while he was there every day like the rest of them, he was quieter than normal, only talking when spoken too, but otherwise trying not to draw Brock’s attention too much. 

It wasn’t to say Brock was completely lucid, his pain medication was still pretty high, but he was awake longer and going longer periods without it which was apparently a good thing. How, he had no idea – seeing Brock’s face drawn in pain made him want to tear his hair out in frustration – but the man refused them when prompted, and the nurses, Trent, Doc and Danny were apparently content to let him choose, only intervening when absolutely necessary. 

Every second Brock was in pain was necessary, in his opinion, but what did he know. 

Today, finally, a week after waking, he had the chance to apologise to Brock for attacking him.

He’d read the letter so many times he’d memorised it. Knew his section by heart – could see in his head the way the letters looped in the handler’s tidy handwriting – could tell you how many splatters of blood were on or near his paragraph – seven, all up – and knew his brother had forgiven him. 

But that didn’t mean he’d forgiven himself for his actions, and he wanted to rectify it without an audience.

Jason was somewhere in the hospital, having been called into a meeting with Blackburn, Doc and Lindell – and christ knew what that was about, although he hoped it was because they’d put down whatever asshat had been talking about retiring Brock – and wasn’t expected out for a few hours. Ray was taking the kids to school, and would be having breakfast out with Naima before she went to work. Trent was who knew where doing who knew what, and Clay was working the Hair Missile into exhaustion across the road. Even Alpha were absent – in the midst of a mission briefing they’d be heading out on in a few days, so he had Brock to himself for a little while, which meant he could apologise to his younger brother and try and put his guilt to rest. 

He was so focused on what he was going to do, what he was going to say, that the sight that greeted him through the glass of Brock’s room the moment he stepped off the elevator made him pause. 

Oh _hell_ no. 

He stormed forwards, refusing to break into a run because one, he was in a hospital and two, he was not going to lose his ridiculously overpriced coffee because of that goddamn hippie and his buddies. 

As he got closer, his eyes widened further when he could see candles and – and were those _crystals?!_ – scattered around the room. Kairos and his three EOD buddies were seated around Brock’s bed, two each side and holding beads that connected their hands, and Wilson was parked by the head of the bed, holding Brock’s good hand. He yanked the door open, and the mystical music he heard was the final straw. 

“The fuck is going on here, Kairos?!” He demanded, setting his coffee on the cabinet by the door so he could put his hands on his hips. Again, waste not an expensive coffee on the hippie. Lost coffee maketh a grumpy Texan. 

Oh god, his thoughts were being scrambled two seconds after entering. Just what in the hell did that mean for Brock?! 

“Hey Sonny,” Kairos replied, not even bothering to open his eyes, the prick, and swaying slightly with the others. “You’ll just need to wait quietly, if you could – don’t want you disrupting the aura flow. Now Brock, feel the energy rise around you, flood your veins, fill you up. Trust in the Seasons.” 

“Trust in the Seasons,” the other three EODs murmured, completely in sync. 

“Oh hell no,” he snarled, stomping further into the room and looking for the source of the music, which he couldn’t see. Didn’t matter. He was going to put a stop to this. “Listen here, you goddamn hippie, whatever you’re doin’ needs to stop _right now_!” 

“Relax with the negative vibes, dude; it’s making everything foggy,” Kairos drawled. “‘sides, if we stop now, it could make things worse. Ain’t that right, Autumn?” 

What? He startled when the only female EOD nodded, eyes still closed and face solemn. 

“The aura’s flowing well around him, so this should help with healing his eyes; assuming Quinn’s aura hasn’t messed with anything.” One of hers cracked open, and she peered at the man opposite her. “You did double check the crystals, right Winters?” 

What the fuck? Summer, Autumn… and there was a Winters too? Wait, he knew that... had overheard it somewhere... 

Wait. His aura? What? He looked around, wafted his hands about his head – he wasn’t about to make things worse for his brother, not when he was trying to stop it in the first place. 

The man named Winters opened his eyes, frowning back at her. “I was the candles and music. Springfield was supposed to check the crystals.” 

Summer, Autumn, Winters, Springfield. Summer, Autumn, Winters, Springfield. Summer… Autumn… Winter… Spring... 

Oh, fuck _right_ off. Nope. _Nope_. 

Springfield looked at his companions, and in unison all four of them shrugged. “Eh, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 

Then they closed their eyes again. 

“I swear to god, Kairos – you better answer me or I’ll permanently cripple your ass. The fuck you doin’ to him?” 

“They’re helping speed up the recovery of his eyes,” Wilson replied. He didn’t look happy though, he was frowning and rubbing his chest, as though his ribs were hurting. 

“Hey, Kairos?” That was Brock, and he found his brother’s head tilted to one side, as though he were thinking. _You’re okay, Brock. You’re okay._ “We finished? Its gone real quiet.” 

“Brock?” he asked, voice this side of concealed panic. “Buddy, you hear me?” 

“Um…” Wilson added, and he looked really uncomfortable now. “Guys, I’m not feeling so good.” 

Autumn tutted and opened her eyes again, looking miffed. “I told you we shoulda had the lights off.” 

_Nope. Not okay. Holy shit._ “Oh hell no!” he ran around the room, blowing out candles, scattering crystals and trying to break whatever chain of voodoo those freaks had on his brother. “It’s all good, Brock – I gotcha. What the fuck have you done to him?! Fix it right now!” 

Kairos put his hands on his hips, beads slipping from his fingers. “Look what you’ve done, Quinn, you goddamn idiot. You’ve broken the aura like I told you _not too_ , and now we’ve got to go through all this _again_ to fix it. Winters, let’s double the candles and crystals. Springfield, get the incense going. Autumn -” 

“JASON!” he roared, racing out of the room. “JASE! WE HAVE A SITUATION!” 

* * *

The door slammed shut, and the moment Sonny had disappeared down the corridor the room dissolved into laughter. 

“Oh my god,” Autumn cackled, “that was priceless.” 

“I’m going to print a slideshow of that video,” Springfield snorted. “That’s getting its own book, commentary and all.” 

Brock clapped his good hand over his mouth, laughing and groaning at the same time. Goddamn his broken ribs. “Kit, that’s saved somewhere safe, yeah?” 

“Already uploaded to my cloud,” his friend snickered. “That video ain’t going anywhere.” 

He heard multiple fists bump, and so held his own out; receiving five careful ones from his friends. “Alright, let’s tidy it up and get the next part set up – we won’t have much time.” 

Those that were able too started moving around the room. Kit gave him a warning before the bed was raised enough so that he was sitting comfortably without aggravating his wounds, and he helped his friend rearrange his sheets and pillow as much as he was able. He could hear the lap table being brought out, the clatter of plastic poker chips and waited for his hand to be given to him. 

“Incoming,” Kit said, two seconds before the door creaked open. 

Brock grinned widely at the rattle of an all too familiar collar, before Cerberus hopped up onto his bed and settled beside him. “Hey buddy.” A wet tongue ran over his fingers, and he gave his boy a scratch under the chin. “Have a good run with Uncle Clay?” 

“As Sonny’s bellowing like an injured bull about two floors down I’m guessing it went well,” Clay said, and Brock could just picture the grin on his brother’s face. While he was now used to the darkness, and praying that Doc was right about it being temporary, he already missed the little things. Seeing Cerberus’ fluffy face, his brothers smiling, his parents... 

_Temporary,_ he reminded himself. This was _temporary._

“It was amazing,” Autumn chortled. “Thanks for the heads up he was on his way, the timing worked perfectly.” 

“Happy to fuck with him,” Clay replied. “What’s next?” 

A poker match was what was next. As discussed, the chips were handed out in random piles, bags of snacks opened and scattered slightly and hands dealt. Brock had been given a royal flush, and was – like the rest of them – sitting there with his cards in his hands, waiting for the bellowing tones of a rampant Texan on his way back. 

Evidently it took a while for Sonny to find Jason, because he was gone for what felt like forever – although keeping time when blind was somewhat difficult, but Brock figured the longer it took Sonny to find help, the more wound up the Texan would become. That was fine, because the more panicked he was the better, and so they sat there talking shit, and nearly forgot what they were doing when they heard a certain someone complaining the lift doors were taking too long to open some amount of time later. 

Immediately, the talking changed from general chatter to poker-chatter, and moments later the door slammed open with a Texan-sized force. 

“The fuck?” 

“I fold,” Autumn said.”Whatcha got, baby tree?” 

“Baby tree?!” he echoed indignantly, momentarily forgetting the script. “Thanks a lot, Wilson.” 

Kit was ugly snorting next to him, and he turned to where he could hear the man. “Just for that, you gigantic pain in the ass; royal flush ladies – read ‘em and weep.” 

Above all the faux-groans, there was one voice that he heard above the rest. 

“The _fuck_?! But he’s – but you - ” 

“I do believe you’re being fucked with.” Ah, so he didn’t find Jason after all that, but Trent. 

There was an irritable harrumph, followed by a yelp from Clay. “Whaddid you hit me for?” Clay demanded. “You never seen a blind man play poker?” 

“Isn’t that how Sonny plays?” Trent asked wryly, eliciting several snorts of laughter. 

“Man, to hell with y’all!” 

“Bye Sonny!” Kairos called out to the footsteps that were stomping off, the laughter in his voice evident. “Miss you already!” 

“Go to hell, Kairos!” 

They were all cackling like kindergartners, and Brock thought his face was going to split from how wide he was grinning. It was strange, how just a few days ago he’d honestly believed that he’d need weeks, if not months to be able to smile again – let alone laugh. But between his brothers and his therapist, the weight of his grief was slowly ebbing away. 

They’d all stressed to him, time and again, that Tenerife wasn’t his fault – that he’d done everything he could; more than he should of, even – and that the outcome wasn’t his fault. While he’d yet to convince himself of that, the more he talked to them about it the more he was slowly coming around to what they were telling him. It would take time, of that he was certain, but with every passing day, every conversation, he started to believe just that little bit more that he’d be okay. 

* * *

“How’re you feeling?” 

“Nervous,” Brock admitted immediately. “Really fucking nervous.” 

His mother’s fingers, which were wrapped around his wrist squeezed gently. “You’ll be okay,” she reassured. “Trent, Danny and that Doc of yours have been singing praises of your recovery. They’re confident that your vision will be absolutely fine.” 

“And if my boy says you’ll be fine, then you’ll be fine,” Mrs. Sawyer added from the opposite side of the bed. 

The fact that he had not only Bravo, Delta, Eric, Lisa, Danny and the EODs in the room, but his parents and Trent’s family had made him blush furiously when he realised just how many people had come for his bandage removal. He was genuinely surprised they could all fit, considering several of them were wheelchair bound, and hadn’t been brave enough to ask if that was everyone, or if they were planning on bringing anyone else. At this rate, he might as well be put in an auditorium, his current audience was so big.

“Trent’s never been wrong before,” his mother agreed, “I doubt he’s about to start now.” 

There was an exasperated huff somewhere nearby, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at that. Having his mother and all three Sawyer women fuss over him when they’d arrived had confused the hell out of him, simply because he hadn’t expected Trent’s mother or sisters to be there, but as he usually did when faced with their fussing, he’d rolled with it.

Which left poor, utterly exasperated Trent to explain why his family were present in the first place.

Apparently, his mum had told Trent’s mum that they were going to remove his bandages –unbeknownst to Trent at the time - and the next thing his friend knew was that his mother was marching into the hospital like a woman on the warpath, the rest of the Sawyer clan following at a slightly more sedate pace behind her.

Mortified, and more than a little exasperated, he’d tried futility to head her off; claiming an already busy room so they should come back in a few hours, but she just thumped him over the head with her handbag as she passed, not even missing a step, and continued onwards – meeting Brock’s mother at the elevator and leaving her exasperated family in her wake. Ergo, Brock had his parents and his adopted family there, too. 

“Thank you mum, Mrs. Reynolds,” Trent said from who knew where in the room, but he was obviously close enough to hear the comments made and as usual, chose to downplay his involvement in it all. “But all I did was put the bandages on; Doc, Danny and Brock did all the hard work.” 

“Don’t be silly dear,” his mother tutted. “You’ve helped my klutz of a son – _again_. Take the credit where it’s due.” 

“I am not a klutz!” he protested, but it fell on deaf ears when there were several snorts. “I’m not!” 

“Says you,” Danny retorted, and he would’ve flipped the medic the bird if his mother wasn’t holding his hand. 

“Son, your mother and I have seriously considered changing your middle name a time or two to Walking Disaster,” his father added dryly. “And that thought wasn’t when you were a kid, I can assure you of that.” 

“Oh come on! I’m not _that_ bad!” 

“Yes you are,” more than one person replied. 

“Man, how do you get all these people worrying over your wilted florets?” Kit asked, his wheelchair parked at the head of the bed at his friend’s insistence. “You part hippie or something?” 

“Don’t you joke about that!” Sonny screeched from what sounded like the foot of the bed. He’d forgiven Brock for his revenge, and Brock had allowed him to apologise before telling him he was being an idiot, and they’d made up. But Sonny had yet to forgive the EODs, and probably never would. Any mention of hippies or voodoo would likely be a sore point for the Texan for a very long time.

“Kit Wilson, don’t you go hassling my boy,” his mother warned, but he could hear the laughter in her voice. “He deserves all the worrying he can get.” 

“Sorry Mrs. Reynolds.” 

“Oh my god,” he groaned. “You get hurt a time or two…” 

“Alrighty!” That was Doc, and Brock straightened a little in his bed, grateful for the man’s interruption. “Let’s get this done before more people turn up and I can’t get to you, shall we?” 

There was a ripple of laughter – further confirming just how many people were gathered – and Brock exhaled slowly, trying to control his racing heart. It was now or never – either he’d regain his sight, or he wouldn’t. 

Please, _please_ let it come back. 

“Alright Brock, I want you to close your eyes nice and tight. I’m going to remove the bandages, and when I say you can, open them nice and slow – a fraction at a time. Give your eyes time to adjust to the dimmed lighting. There’s no need to rush, okay?” 

Piece of cake. “Copy that.” 

“Alright.” Gentle yet firm hands cupped his head, and Brock tipped his head forward so the man could unwind the bandages without issue. 

The moment the material fell away felt weird, the air on the previously concealed skin tickling uncomfortably. He heard his mother mutter to someone – either his dad or Mrs. Sawyer about getting him some moisturiser – and figured the skin was red and angry looking after being covered for so long. Doc nudged him back to rest against his pillows, and the man’s fingers rested on his temples.

“Eyes shut?”

He gave a slight nod, doing as instructed as the man pulled away the gel padding that had been placed over his eyelids to keep them closed. 

“You got this, Broccoli,” Clay said, and Cerberus woofed quietly in agreement, making him chuckle. 

“Alright, when you’re ready,” Doc said, resting his hand on Brock’s forehead and nose, adding an extra layer of protection for him. “Remember, nice and slow.” 

He did as instructed, cracking his eyes open a fraction. 

The sliver of light made him want to cry. Tamping down his emotions, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the little bit of brightness that had filtered in before opening them a little more. There was no way he was going to screw this up, so he took his time – but every bit of extra light that came in, the tighter his fingers curled in the sheet by his lap; until his mother took his hand and started massaging it gently. 

The room was utterly silent, save for the sound of everyone’s breathing – and those simple breaths of air told him where everyone was. He’d heard about the experiences people had where the other senses took over when one was lost, and he’d found it had been much the same for him. Whether it would last remained to be seen, but he was looking forward to testing it out – especially considering there had been concerns about his hearing in the days following the explosion. 

Eventually, his eyes were fully open, but everything was blurry. A couple of quick blinks seemed to sort that out, and he could make out the lines on Doc’s fingers. 

“Well?” Sonny asked impatiently. “C’mon Brock, you know I don’t like suspense.” 

“I will throw you out of this room, Quinn, don’t think I won’t,” Doc threatened. “How’re you going Brock?” 

“Good,” he replied, annoyed at how choked up he sounded. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I think we’re good.” 

Doc removed his hand slowly, and Brock felt a grin creep onto his face in response to the hopeful smiles on his brothers’ ones. “Good to see you lot are as ugly as usual.” 

There was a collective cheer, and Brock looked at Doc, Trent and Danny who were gathered around the bed closest to the Reynolds and Sawyer matriarchs – their shoulders slumped in relief. “Thank you,” he said, looking at each of them in turn. “Seriously just… thanks.” 

“Eh, don’t mention it,” Danny replied, the relief in his eyes waylaid by his amusement. “I’m sure we’ll be back to patching your sorry ass up in no time.” 

He groaned, but didn’t bother to refute it. There was no point. 

“Here,” Kit said, and he looked over at his friend who was holding out a mirror. “In case you want to see your ugly mug.” 

He didn’t, not particularly, but he gave his mother’s hand a squeeze before pulling from her grasp. He took the mirror and had barely lifted it before he was dropping it to the bed and leaning over to smack his friend upside the head. “You, are an utter dick,” he told the snorting man. “Seriously, you’re defriended.” 

“You’re about the same colour,” Kit cackled, holding his sides. 

His mother grabbed the mirror, and clapped her hand over her mouth to cover her giggles, turning it to show the rest of the room who fell into fits laughing. 

Stuck to the mirror was a close up picture of his face, merged with a purple head of broccoli. It looked utterly ridiculous, nothing like him, and Brock planned on sticking it to his fridge when he got home.

Looking around the room he smiled, relief filling him at not only the sight of his friends and family, but the fact he could see them at all. There had been many a night he’d worried that he wouldn’t get this again, that his future would be filled with a darkness that would never fade. If that were the case, he knew his life would change because of it – never able to see his parents, his dog, his brothers again. Never to see the sky, the trees, the grass… nothing but the inky darkness of his unseeing eyes. A gift he didn’t yet think he was worthy of, but wouldn’t waste all the same.

“How’re you feeling?”

He looked at his mother, felt his lips curl in response to the soft look she gave him - the repeated question that meant so much more than it had just before warming him to his core. “Good,” he replied, feeling the truth to those words echo in his bones.

“Really fucking good.”


	15. Moving Forward, One Step At A Time

**A/N: Hey team! We're finally at the end; give yourselves a pat on the back, a block of chocolate, cup of alcohol... whatever tickles your fancy because you made it! Our train from Shithitsthefan-ville has finally returned to the station of our normal lives, and the emotional rollercoaster you've been on has hopefully ended pleasantly. You guys have all been absolutely amazing - the enthusiasm and love for this story has been mindblowing, and I've loved dragging you along on this crazy ride with me!**

**As you may have noticed, this is now part of a series! I thought the series name was fitting, considering the Bravo Storybook is something we've all come to know and love from the first story, and links everything quite nicely here! At present, I only have two, maybe three other stories for the boys planned, but we'll see - as you may be able to tell, I have an overactive imagination, so could very well end up with a few more to add along the way!**

**In saying that, I have a summary for the next story for you :D I can't promise it'll be published next week as I'm heading off on a roadtrip for a week with my dad to get my car down south, so if it doesn't happen don't despair - I'll get it out as soon as I can!**

_**"It was supposed to be simple. Get in, grab the man suspected of supplying the explosives to the Tenerife bombers, get answers, get out again. But they weren’t expecting their HVT to have an armed force at his disposal, nor were they expecting to have to fight for their lives while trying to get to their exfil.** _

**_They certainly weren’t expecting to leave two of their team behind, but they had too – and now their two brothers have to fight for their lives in one of the most hostile places on earth until they can be rescued from the Hornet’s Nest."_  
**

**Once again, a special shout out to[lorarawr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorarawr), [Kelmeckis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelmeckis), [Hockey_92](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hockey_92), [marinka1836](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marinka1836), [Countrygirl83](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Countrygirl83), [LifeofLaura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeofLaura), [meikej1989](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meikej1989), [Moanin_0h](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moanin_0h), [boo_1997](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boo_1997), [turnitup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnitup), [Muggleborn12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muggleborn12), [SlickesGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlickesGirl), [bluedragonmaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedragonmaid), [Rantsandobliviousness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rantsandobliviousness), [Norwegian_Youth_SOF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Norwegian_Youth_SOF), [Morgan_Jean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgan_Jean), [Owebee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owebee), [DonnaJ66](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DonnaJ66), [illyria13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyria13), [FlutieCutie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlutieCutie), [TinyNinjaWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyNinjaWolf), [Samsam572](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samsam572), [FancyHippopotamoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyHippopotamoose), [Quetzalcoatl_hime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quetzalcoatl_hime), [burn_me_down](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burn_me_down), [KazooKaren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren), [nhardoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhardoy), [ghostwriter_44](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwriter_44), [Raeschiev9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raeschiev9), [ShellyFanFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic), [Hayzkid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hayzkid), [Irish1969](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish1969), [Laura42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura42), [Floopdeedoopdee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floopdeedoopdee), [Eggerthella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggerthella), [purplerain88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplerain88), [blabliblablu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blabliblablu), [TheLaurinchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLaurinchen), [MiaMalfoy716](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaMalfoy716), [CamilleMadeAnAccount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount), [Jemmacatt14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemmacatt14), [Wurdsmadder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wurdsmadder), [NobodyKnowsWhoIAM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobodyKnowsWhoIAM), and [Bastet5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastet5) as well as the 118 guests who've commented and kudosed. You guys are truly awesome, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart!**

**As always, come screech at me in the comments! :D**

* * *

Brock jolted awake, sitting up with a stifled yell – heart racing, breaths gasping. 

He could feel the sweat dripping down his forehead, down his heaving chest; echoes of gunfire in his ears, smoke in his nose, blinding light in his eyes. Whispers of _failure_ echoing in his head. Uncurling from his hunched position, he rubbed at his chest with trembling fingers as he gulped air desperately, trying to calm down. “Who are you?” he rasped, looking up and into the eyes of the person sitting in the chair at the end of his bed, half concealed by darkness. “What do you want?” 

The company was unexpected, but he wasn’t a Tier One operative for nothing – if he had too, even injured as he was, he’d handle it. Whether it was the movement, the breathing or something else that had alerted him to the stranger’s presence, he didn’t know – but it was a welcome distraction from his nightmare; something tangible he could focus on instead of smoke and ghosts. 

Said man didn’t look startled, or even embarrassed about being caught – if anything he looked rather impressed. “Sorry for waking you,” the man said, his Scottish accent making him double take. Definitely not a SEAL, which only further deepened the mystery of his new visitor. “Although something tells me it might’ve been a good thing.” 

“You could say that,” he replied, clearing his throat once when he realised it still sounded as though he’d swallowed glass. “Who are you?” 

The man leaned forward just enough for the first bits of sunlight that were filtering through the window to illuminate him; and Brock felt his shoulders drop incrementally. Well-built, shaved head with a close-cropped mohawk down the middle and eyes that spoke of too many demons were what greeted him. Military then, which meant that whoever he was, he was a friend. Possibly. 

“John MacTavish.” The man stood, filling a cup of water before handing it over wordlessly. “I’m a Captain with the SAS, and you’re the reason I’m here.” 

He drank slowly, eyeing the man curiously. His heart had finally started to slow from the gallop pace it had been thundering at, but he now felt clammy and gross. Focusing on the distraction provided, he wiped a hand across his face. “Alright,” he said after a moment. “I’ll bite; what does the SAS want with me?” 

MacTavish smirked as he brought his chair closer to the side of the bed. “A few things, but first – I want to say thank you. You’re the reason Heathrow still stands, why I didn’t lose any friends that day. I know the same can’t be said for you, and you have my condolences for that; but I’m truly grateful for what you did.” 

He swallowed and looked down at his lap, the echoes of his failure still too present in his head. His therapy session yesterday had been long and hard, his meeting with Troy, then Flynn even more so – all three leaving him emotionally and mentally drained. It was likely the reason for his nightmare in the first place, and now to have someone he’d never met before there to thank him… he wasn’t sure what to do with that. 

“I know it’s hard,” MacTavish continued, and he looked at the man again – found him gazing off into the distance. Brock knew he was reliving his own horrors – had seen that faraway look in his eye one too many times with his own brothers. “Having people congratulate you for a job well done when not everyone made it home; that voice in your head whispering that you didn’t do enough to keep the same outcome, but with everyone alive.” The man blinked and refocused on him, his lips quirking in a small smile. “It’s hard to think of the mission as a success, when all you see is failure.” 

“It sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” he replied, voice soft. He wouldn’t force the man to relive his own nightmares if he didn’t want too, but something about their exchange told him the question wasn’t entirely unwelcome. A burden shared, a burden halved and all that. 

“My first mission straight out of selection ended with all but my CO dead, and he and I close to it. When we were recovering, they told us that the mission was a _success_ , that we’d stopped a nuclear launch and saved millions of people – that we should be _proud_.” MacTavish shook his head, his words laced in disgust, and even he felt disturbed by the praise. Evidently the people who gave it hadn’t served on the front lines, or had forgotten what it was to do so. 

“It took a long time for me to forgive myself for not doing more - especially when the 2IC was also my CO’s best friend. There were times, late at night, that I wondered if it would’ve been better if our positions had been reversed – that the FNG should’ve died, and the more experienced one lived. I didn’t think it was fair, and I think there were the odd times when my CO thought so, too.” 

MacTavish heaved a slow, deep breath, before giving him a rueful smile. “But those are my demons, and I worked through them. The same as I know you’ll work through yours. Like your physical injuries, it’ll take time for your mind to recover – but they will; from what Leaf tells me, you’re recovering remarkably well.” 

At his obvious confusion, MacTavish shook his head. “Sorry, Flynn.” 

“You’re friends with him?” 

“Aye. I’ve worked alongside him and his boys for a number of years; both in separate teams, and joint ones. He’s a good man who lost two brothers, and feared he’d lose more – would have, if not for you.” 

“If I had understood what Cerb was telling me sooner, he wouldn’t have,” he replied, but the conviction that had laced those words several times in his first therapy session was no longer there. Evidently, the talking had helped, but the way he said it was blunt, resigned. He blamed himself, probably always would to some degree, but his mind was no longer caught up on wishing he could’ve swapped places. He couldn’t do that to his brothers, nor to the memory of Stone and Ramirez. They deserved better. He _wanted_ to do better for them. 

But it was still hard to convince himself of that sometimes. 

MacTavish eyed him thoughtfully, and Brock ducked his head at the intense examination he was subjected to. “This is your first time losing someone?” 

He shrugged. “Technically no, I’ve lost brothers before, friends, but -” 

“But it’s the first time your actions have influenced the outcome.” 

“Yeah.” He glared at the arm still limp in its cast as he scrubbed the other through his hair, grimacing at the sweat still clinging to the strands. The lack of a second functioning arm was really becoming a drag, but he had no idea when said cast would be removed and so, like every other day since he’d woken, continued to suffer through it. “It’s just… hard shaking that feeling of responsibility, I guess.” 

“I know what you mean.” 

Clearing his throat, more than ready to move away from that line of conversation he said: “you said there were _reasons_ for being here, not a reason. So do tell, the suspense is killing me.” 

MacTavish snorted at his dry tone before digging into his pocket, and Brock wouldn’t deny that his curiosity was piqued. “From what I’ve been told, you’re not one for attention which is why I’m doing this here.” 

“You’re not going to shoot me, are you?” he asked wryly. MacTavish huffed a laugh and shook his head. 

“Not quite, although you’ll probably wish I had after this.” He held up a box, and Brock tilted his head at the intricate carvings on the outside. “Like I said, the only reason I’m doing this here is because I was told you hate attention; so it was either here, or at a public ceremony,” and with that, he lifted the lid to reveal what was inside. 

To say he was speechless was an understatement. “Is… is that -?” 

“On behalf of her Royal Majesty, and with the blessings of the British government and the British SAS, I’ve been instructed to award you with the Victoria Cross – for willingly sacrificing your life in order to stop one of the worst attempted terrorist attacks on British soil in history.” 

Brock gaped, speechless, as MacTavish handed him the box. “But… but can you even do this?” he croaked, fingers loosely curled around the wood, brushing the gleaming metal. “I’m not British – I don’t think I’m allowed this.” 

MacTavish snorted. “My understanding is there were a couple of people who argued the same with her Highness directly, and she reminded them that as the Queen, she could award it to whoever she believed deserved it.” He drew out a second box and handed it over. “There’s also the Dickins Medal for your dog, too; said you both saved countless lives at the expense of your own – and she was determined to recognize that. What you did for the British people... we owe you an unpayable debt.” 

“I... I can’t possibly -” 

“Listen kid, I’m not one for pomp and décor either, but I’ll make you sit through a ceremony if I have too,” the Scot threatened, but his smirk took the sting out of his grumpy words. “If you don’t want it, you can tell the Queen herself; which I think would be hilarious, so please, by all means tell her to take it back if you’re so inclined. But I suggest you suck it up and accept it.” 

Well. He couldn’t really argue with that logic, now could he? 

“That’s what I thought. Now, next reason is because I’m here to offer you a position on my team,” MacTavish said, looking rather smug. “I’ve already told Leaf about this, but he went all weird about it so I decided to tell you directly and -” 

Brock groaned, covering his eyes. Either he was still asleep, and his nightmare had turned into a very weird dream, or he had yet another person wanting to reassign him. Please let it be a weird dream, _please let it be a weird dream_ … he opened his eyes. Nope. The Scottish SAS man was still sitting opposite him. Goddamn it. “Goddamn it. Jase is going to kill me, I swear to god.” 

“Um… should I be concerned?” 

“Depends on how intimidating you find my boss.” 

MacTavish shrugged. “Compared to some of the bastards I’ve faced over the years, he’s probably as intimidating as a kitten. Look, there’s no expectation for you to join, but the offer is there if you ever want it. My unit only takes the best, and you and your… dog… would fit right in.” 

Brock blanched. While he was touched by the thought, he doubted the offer would be on the table if MacTavish knew of the rumor that was going around – the rumour his brothers had tried to hide from him, but he’d overheard all the same. It was the same rumour that had started his nightmare, and the one from the night before, too. “There’s people talking about medically retiring me,” he muttered, and was further surprised when the man scoffed and waved a hand dismissively. 

“Kid, from what I’m hearing, you have nothing to worry about, and frankly we’ll wait as long as we have too if needed. You and your dog would have a spot with us, no questions asked.” 

The way his eye twitched when he referred to Cerberus made Brock snort. “Not a dog fan, huh?” 

“With the ones I’ve met, not in the slightest.” MacTavish visibly shuddered, which made him grin despite the man’s obvious discomfort. “But I’d put my dislike aside as long as your dog didn’t try to kill me.” 

“Duly noted.” He leaned back into his bed, sighing heavily. “Look, I appreciate the offer, I really do. But my team are my family; I don’t even know if I’ll be allowed to return to them, so I’m not ready to consider joining anyone else just yet. But I do appreciate the offer.” 

MacTavish nodded – as though he’d expected the answer. “I won’t say I’m not disappointed, because I am; but I get it. Just remember that offer doesn’t have an expiry date, so if you ever want a change, you tell Flynn and he’ll let me know.” MacTavish glanced at the window and pushed out of his seat, clapping him on the shoulder. “I should leave you to it. You’ll get through this kid, I promise.” 

“Thanks,” he said, watching as the man headed for the door. Content to let the man leave, when his fallen Delta brothers flashed through his mind he realised he had the chance to seize an opportunity his brothers had so far denied - despite asking several times over the last few days. “Hey, uh… were you at the funeral? Stone and Ramirez’s, I mean?” 

MacTavish turned, hand on the door handle. “Aye, I was there for Leaf, and on behalf of the SAS. Why?” 

He bit his lip, considered the consequences of what he was about to ask then decided he didn’t much care. He’d deal with it – it, being irate brothers - later. “Can you take me to the cemetery? To where they're buried?” 

He half expected the man to object, or question his request. If anything, he looked rather amused. “Bit sick of these walls, huh?” 

“It’s something I need to do,” he replied quietly. “Please.” 

“Early morning jailbreak without anyone knowing?” MacTavish asked, his smirk growing wider. “Why the hell not.” 

* * *

The first breath of fresh air on his face startled him - the difference between the filtered air of the hospital and fresh making him realise just how much he’d missed the outdoors. 

MacTavish pushed him towards the carpark, and Brock took the chance to look at the all too familiar scenery - wondered if there was some truth to his parents’ accusations of his accident prone-ness that he knew these views so well. 

It was quiet, the early hours of the morning meaning that most were still in bed, or still on shift. The faint hues of dawn cut through the trees, and despite the nervousness thrumming through his veins at leaving without permission – from his brothers or the hospital – the sight brought about a sense of calm, helped ground him in the moment of what he was about to do. 

“We can go back, if you want.” MacTavish’s quiet comment made him startle slightly, but he was already shaking his head before he fully registered what he’d said. 

“I need to do this,” he replied, voice soft but firm. “I owe them that much.” 

“Fair enough.” 

The rest of the short walk was completed in silence, and they were soon at a black SUV tucked away between cars. It was there, facing the car that he realised he may not have thought this through as well as he should have. He wasn’t exactly mobile, and getting into his seat was going to be hard as hell. “Um…” 

MacTavish apparently didn’t see an issue, because one minute Brock was in his wheelchair, and the next he was sitting in the passenger seat –the Scot not even breaking a sweat as he folded down the wheelchair, shut Brock’s door and stowed the chair in the back before joining him in the front. “Shall we?” 

He nodded. “Please.” 

The drive wasn’t long, thirty minutes at most, but it passed in silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable like Brock expected, but reflective; and sorely needed. Where Sonny, Jason and Clay would’ve chattered away to fill the void, Trent and Ray a bit less so – MacTavish was content to remain quiet, which meant it gave him time to prepare himself for what he was about to face. And god, he wasn’t ready – but he knew it had to be done. 

As they pulled up to the gates of the Hampton Cemetery, MacTavish turned to him for the first time since they’d left the hospital. “Do you want me to stay?” 

Avoiding his brothers after his little foray was ideal, but he knew he was only delaying the inevitable. They’d find him eventually, and if for whatever reason they didn’t, he’d call one of them to come get him on the new phone Davis had set up and tested repeatedly for him. Or a taxi. “I’m good,” he said, resigning himself to his fate. “Thanks though.” 

MacTavish nodded, and Brock looked out the window again – could feel his nerves start to build as they passed row upon row of headstones. It was sobering to see, it always was - he’d been here several times and it never got any easier. To know that this was the final resting place for people he knew and cared about, that they were little more than a plaque and a box in the ground; sometimes filled, sometimes not… it wasn’t pleasant.

The car rolled to a stop after taking several turns, and he sat quietly as MacTavish got out and grabbed his chair. Once again he was shifted without the Scot batting an eye, and Brock double checked his phone was in his pocket before giving his companion a nod. MacTavish nodded back, and pushed him down the lane, mounting the curb so they could get onto the grass, and made a beeline for two graves that looked newer than the rest. 

He had to swallow several times to clear the lump in his throat, and was determined not to break down while his companion was still there. The soil atop the two graves were still covered in flowers – the numerous bunches practically concealing the turned earth beneath. Breathing slowly, trying to keep his emotions in check was hard, but he managed. 

MacTavish parked his wheelchair between the two graves and a soft click indicated he’d activated the brakes. The man circled around, and Brock looked up at him; one eyebrow lifting at the bottle of cola extended to him. 

“Well, you can’t have alcohol yet, so I figured this would be the next best thing,” the man explained, so Brock took the bottle and set it on his lap. Then, to his complete surprise, MacTavish crouched until they were eye level and grabbed his shoulder. “Remember kid, this isn’t on you. These boys know that you did everything you could for them; your team too. Don’t let this consume you – you don’t deserve it, and Stone and Ramirez wouldn’t want it – either.” 

He swallowed, and nodded – the movement stilted. 

MacTavish nodded once and stood, squeezing his shoulder gently before walking away. Brock watched him get in his car and drive off, before turning back to the graves, eyes turning to the sun that was just creeping over the horizon and taking a moment to appreciate the morbid beauty before him – the light gently touching the tombstones in the distance, the wind softly rustling the leaves, the early morning silence that permeated the air. 

Emotion once again bubbled to the surface, and he turned his eyes back to the two graves, allowed everything he felt – everything his nightmares kept dragging to the surface – to rise; to flood his mind so they could be dealt with and laid to rest once and for all. 

“Hey guys,” he said, voice hoarse and breaking, tears dripping down his cheeks. 

“Sorry it took me so long.” 

* * *

Trent prided himself on his reflexes; honed from years of serving on the team in some of the most hostile environments a soldier could enter, and wrangling wayward brothers more times than he cared to count.

Said reflexes were so on point, they were the only reason he didn’t drop his coffee when he walked into Clay.

He tutted at his brother’s back, which was blocking the door to Brock’s room – and when the blond didn’t move he flicked his ear. “Stop being a perv and enter, would you?” 

Rather than do as ordered, Clay turned to him with wide eyes as he sidled to the side. 

“Oh for fuck sake,” he muttered irritably when he noticed the empty bed - the sheets askew and Cerberus sniffing around; undoubtedly confused by the lack of his human. He pulled out his phone and jumped into his contacts list, listening to the line ring as he took a long drag of his coffee. 

“Trent, how the hell did he get outta here?” Clay asked, his voice laced with worry. “His wheelchair isn’t automatic – he shouldn’t have been able to leave!”

“We’re about to find – Lisa!” Aborting that line of conversation, he talked to the only person qualified enough to find his best friend. He didn’t bother trying the new phone Brock had been given; knew that it’d be switched off until Bravo 5 decided to make contact – and wasn’t he lined up for a bollocking when he did – so he called the only person capable of tracking the wandering Brock Reynolds. “We have a problem.”

 _“_ _Let me guess,”_ his friend said wryly. _“_ _You’ve lost Sonny at a strip joint_ _.”_

“This is the one time I’d be glad for that, but no. Brock’s not in his hospital bed, and -” 

_“And he’s not cleared to leave,”_ she finished for him, tutting as she did so. _“Alright, standby_ _._ _Goyle_ _!”_ She yelled, and Trent held the phone away from his ear as she started issuing orders. 

“You contacted the others?” he asked Clay, and one blond head bobbed as he continued texting. 

“Ray is gunna grab Sonny, and Jase is on his way.” 

“Good,” he replied, chewing his lip thoughtfully as he looked down the hall. Eh, fuck it. While listening to Lisa talk to her minions, and Clay mumble under his breath, he quietly opened the door to Wilson’s room and stuck his head inside. The man was rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and Trent winced when he realised he’d just woken the SEAL. 

“Hey man,” Kit greeted, his voice gravelly and half asleep. “What’s up?”

“You been sleeping the whole time?”

“That… would be what one does when in a hospital bed, yes,” Wilson replied, brows furrowed in confusion. “What’s going on?”

“Brock’s done a runner,” Clay said from over his shoulder. With one hand holding his coffee, and the other holding his phone Trent couldn’t smack his brother upside the head like he wanted, so he gave him a dirty look instead. “Your Eyebrows of Doom aren’t too bad,” Clay added, sounding mildly impressed when he briefly glanced up from his phone. “Not as good as Jase, though. But close.” 

He jammed his phone between his ear and shoulder and smacked an unsuspecting Clay upside the head.

“Ow!” 

_“Trent?”_

“I’m here Lisa,” he replied, rolling his eyes at a still smarting Clay and putting his phone on speaker. “What have you got?” 

_“We got access to the hospital cameras, and first thing first – Brock didn’t leave by himself. Someone was with him._ _”_ He and Clay had moved closer to a now wide awake Kit, and they all looked at each other, frowning as they listened. _“_ _His friend kept their back to the camera the whole time, and managed to sneak Brock out unseen. It_ _’_ _s actually quite impressive_ _\- or it would be, if they weren’t trained in digital avoidance techniques. But they are, so it’s not.”_

Trent shrugged, conceding her point. Seeing as she oversaw elite operatives who pulled off incredible feats all the time, of course she’d be able to tell the difference between who was trained in stealth, and who wasn’t. Hence why seeing someone avoid cameras was pretty lackluster in her books. “Anyone we know?” 

_“I think so.”_ His question hadn’t been a serious one, which is why the three of them looked at each other in surprise at Davis’ semi-confirmation. 

“Who?” It was imperative he have a name; not only so he knew who the hell had taken Brock from the hospital, and _why_ they’d taken Brock from the hospital _,_ but so he could kick their ass for doing so in the first place. “I thought you said you couldn’t see their face?” 

“I can’t, but their mohawk is pretty distinctive. I think -” 

“It’s MacTavish,” Kit said, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “I wonder why he came to visit Brock. Was there anything different in his room?” 

“You mean aside from the fact he wasn’t in his bed?” Clay replied dryly. “No, we didn’t get past the doorway.” 

“Lisa do you know where they went?” he asked, stepping aside so Wilson could get himself into his chair. 

_“We’re tracking the car MacTavish used through the cameras now,”_ Davis replied. _“Give us a minute.”_

“I think I know where they’ve gone,” Wilson said as he rolled himself from his room and the short distance down the corridor. 

When he said nothing further, Trent waved a hand in invitation. “And that would be…” 

“Where’s the one place Brock’s asked to go, but you haven’t let him?” Wilson asked as he rolled into Brock’s room and went to the side of the bed. He gave a pouting Cerberus a scratch – the Malagator was curled up on his owner’s bed with his nose buried in the sheets and looking extremely put out - before grabbing the two boxes from the bedside table that Trent hadn’t seen before and nodded when he opened the bigger one, as though he’d expected it. 

Trent sighed when he realised what Kit was referring to. He should’ve known Brock would get there, one way or another. He was so damn stubborn. “The cemetery.” 

_“Wilson’s right,”_ Lisa added, her voice tinny over the speaker. _“We’re still gaining access to traffic cams, but the SUV is heading that direction._ _”_

“Alright, keep on them,” he told her. “Call me if that turns out to be wrong.” 

_“You think MacTavish might be kidnapping him?”_

“It’s Brock,” he retorted, exasperated. “I wouldn’t put it past him that someone else is trying to recruit him. Would you?” 

Lisa cackled as she ended the call and Trent shook his head. Honestly, it would be Brock’s luck if that were the case. Jason would lose his shit if that happened, but weirder things had happened to his friend, so it wouldn’t exactly come as a surprise. 

“How would MacTavish know where to go?” Clay asked, frowning as he thought. “Brock certainly doesn’t know where they’re buried.” 

“MacTavish was at the funeral on behalf of the SAS, remember?” Kit replied. “So he knows where they’re buried. If Brock had asked, I imagine MacTavish would’ve done anything for him; considering he gave him this.” 

Wilson handed the box over, and Trent knew both he and Clay did a double take at the medal they were now faced with. “Is that -” 

“The Victoria Cross, yeah.” 

“But he – but why -” Clay was evidently lost for words at the sight of such a prestigious medal. “I mean, if anyone deserves it, it’s Brock; but why give it to him here? Not – oh. Right.” 

Trent knew he’d looked at his brother incredulously, and it must’ve been his expression that clued Clay into how ridiculous he sounded. Brock forced to be front and center in a _huge_ ceremony? The first of its kind for an American soldier? Pfft. Good luck with that one. 

“Shuddup Trent,” Clay grumbled, before waving at the second box. “What’s in that one?” 

“This one’s for ma buddy,” Kit said, kissing Cerberus on the head when the canine lifted it to look at him. “Mister fancy pants, hey Bus?” He handed the box over, and Trent pursed his lips when he looked at it. 

“What is it?” 

“The Dickins medal,” Kit replied, rolling his eyes when he and Clay looked at each other and shrugged. “It’s the canine version of the Victoria Cross; awarded to dogs who risk their lives for their handlers, team or civilians.” 

A well-deserved award indeed, he thought; smiling at Cerberus who huffed and dropped his head into the sheets again. 

“That’s cool,” Clay said, looking impressed before glancing at his phone. “So… should we wait for the others or just go to the cemetery and get Brock back?” 

Trent sighed and dropped into a chair, pulling out his own phone. “We’ll wait. Might as well give him the time he wants now that he’s there.” 

Despite his irritation at Brock’s unapproved adventure – he didn’t even want to know how Jase had reacted when Clay told him – he couldn’t blame his brother. Their determination to protect him, to wait until he was physically healed before taking him had always been doomed to backfire. Brock needed to heal his mental wounds, as well as his physical ones - he’d been denied multiple times, which meant he’d taken matters into his own hands to do so. 

He couldn’t blame him, but he would drill the importance of telling them where he was going the moment it was suitable to do so. 

* * *

Brock had lost track of time. He’d lost track of everything, really – but the peace that had filled him after he’d talked to his fallen brothers, toasted them with his bottle of cola, apologised over and over again for failing them; allowed the emotion to overwhelm him and slowly ebb away… this trip, as rebellious as it had been was the best thing for him. 

So now he sat there in quiet contemplation; both of the events at Tenerife, and the recovery that lay before him. His mind also occasionally strayed to wondering how long it would take his brothers to find him, but that was only fleeting. 

He’d lost track of time, allowed the rising sun to warm him as he sat there – and it was the sound of multiple closing doors, as well as some grumbling that drew him from his thoughts. 

The quick pitter-patter of paws on grass made him smile slightly. He’d been found. 

Sure enough Cerberus was suddenly beside him; nudging his good hand with his nose and whining happily. 

“Hey buddy,” he chuckled, scratching his boy behind the ears. “I missed you too.” Multiple, muted thuds of shoes on packed soil came towards him, and he smirked at his dog. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?” 

Cerberus woofed once, wagging his tail. 

“Yeah, thought so.” 

He looked up when legs came into view, and he tried to look contrite when Jason and Trent folded their arms and glared at him. “Oh hey guys. Fancy seeing you here.” 

“I’m getting you and Clay backpack leashes, I swear to god,” Jason growled, and Brock grinned when Clay squawked in protest. 

“What did I do?!” 

“I didn’t mean to freak anyone out,” he said, hoping he sounded as sorry as he was. He really didn’t mean to scare them – but he needed this time to himself; and considering they’d all refused his request to come here... well. He sorted it. “I really am sorry.” 

Trent sighed, his shoulders slumping. “You have nothing to apologise for,” his friend replied. “If anything, we’re sorry; we knew you wanted this, but we just didn’t want to see you hurting anymore.” 

“How’re you feeling now, brother?” Ray asked, and Brock leaned into the hand he placed on his shoulder. “You look more at peace.” 

He nodded, turning to look back at the graves and acutely aware of his brothers gathering behind him. He drew on their strength when they each placed a hand on his shoulder – smiled when Cerberus placed a paw on his thigh. “I am. It’s hard, knowing I’m here and they’re not; but I’ve laid my demons to rest – for them and for me. I know I’ve got a ways to go still, but I’m getting there.” 

The fact of the matter was, he hadn’t expected to survive Tenerife. When he’d found the bombs in the roof, then realised what the terrorists had planned for the plane… he’d accepted that it was his time to go. Regretted he wasn’t able to say goodbye to those he loved, but had accepted it all the same.

But by some miracle, he was allowed to live – a gift he had no intention of wasting. Come hell or high water, he was going to make sure he rejoined his brothers on Bravo so that he could continue the good fight – protect those who couldn’t protect themselves, and stop those determined to do harm.

He’d honor the memories of the brother’s he’d lost in Tenerife and all the people who had lost their lives.

He didn’t care how long it took.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may seem strange that Brock got awarded the VC, but after some contemplation I decided to run with it. Brock's actions went above and beyond for people that weren't his own, and - for this story (fiction, remember) - I decided that the British Monarchy and Government would want to recognise what he did. As per wikipedia:
> 
> "The Victoria Cross (VC) is the highest and most prestigious award of the British honours system. It is awarded for valour "in the presence of the enemy" to members of the British Armed Forces. It's awarded for most conspicuous bravery, or some daring or pre-eminent act of valour or self-sacrifice, or extreme devotion to duty in the presence of the enemy."
> 
> The Dickins award is the animal version of the VC, and is awarded for "Conspicuous gallantry or devotion to duty while serving in military conflict." It was most recently awarded to Kuno on 29th August 2020 "A Belgian Malinois, for courage under fire during a Special Boat Service raid against al-Qaeda in Afghanistan. When forces were pinned down by grenade and machine-gun fire, Kuno was sent in wearing night-vision goggles to attack the gunman, and wrestled him to the ground despite being shot in both hind legs. The injuries he sustained required part of one of his hind paws to be amputated, and he received a prosthesis to replace it after his return to Britain." I came across it on IG as a recommendation from the account working_dog_radio. Have a read of the summary, as it's very interesting!


End file.
